*  • 


^ 


THE  HOUSE  OF  A 
THOUSAND  CANDLES 


Olivia 


THE  HOUSE  OF  A 
THOUSAND  CANDLES 


MEREDITH  NICHOLSON 

Author  of  THE  MAIN  CHANCE 
ZELDA  DAMERON,  ETC. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

HOWARD  CHANDLER  CHRISTY 


"  So  on  the  morn  there  fell  new  tidings  and  other  adventures  " 

MiLOKT 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


Copyright  1905 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


NOVEMBER 


PRESS  OF 

BRAUNWORTH  A  CO. 

BOOKBINDERS  AND  PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN,  N.  Y. 


spargaret  Spy  §>teter 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  FAGS 

I  THE  WILL  OP  JOHN  MARSHALL,  GLBNARM  1 

II  A  FACE  AT  SHERRY'S  22 

III  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES  37 

IV  A  VOICE  FROM  THE  LAKE  47 
V  A  BED  TAM-O'-SHANTER  63 

VI  THE  GIRL  AND  THE  CANOE  80 

VII  THE  MAN  ON  THE  WALL  89 

VIII  A  STRING  OP  GOLD  BEADS  102 

IX  THE  GIRL  AND  THE  RABBIT  112 

X  AN  AFFAIR  WITH  THE  CARETAKER  129 

XI  I  RECEIVE  A  CALLER  142 

XII  I  EXPLORE  A  PASSAGE  153 

XIII  A  PAIR  OF  EAVESDROPPERS  166 

XIV  THE  GIRL  IN  GRAY  177 
XV  I  MAKE  AN  ENGAGEMENT  191 

XVI  THE  PASSING  OP  OLIVIA  200 

XVII  SISTER  THERESA  213 

XVIII  GOLDEN  BUTTERFLIES  225 

XIX  I  MEET  AN  OLD  FRIEND  239 

XX  A  TRIPLE  ALLIANCE  255 

XXI  PICKERING  SERVES  NOTICE  268 

XXII  THE  RETURN  OF  MARIAN  DEVEREUX  278 

XXIII  THE  DOOR  OF  BEWILDERMENT  288 

XXIV  A  PROWLER  OF  THE  NIGHT  304 
XXV  BESIEGED  316 

XXVI  THE  FIGHT  IN  THE  LIBRARY  329 

XXVII  CHANGES  AND  CHANCES  351 

XXVIII  SHORTER  VISTAS  363 

XXIX  AND  So  THE  LIGHT  LED  ME  370 


THE  HOUSE  OF  A 
THOUSAND  CANDLES 


THE  HOUSE 
OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 


CHAPTER   I 

THE  WILL  OP   JOHN   MARSHALL  GLENARM 

Pickering's  letter  bringing  news  of  my  grandfather's 
death  found  me  at  Naples  early  in  October.  John 
Marshall  Glenarm  had  died  in  June.  He  had  left  a 
will  which  gave  me  his  property  conditionally,  Picker 
ing  wrote,  and  it  was  necessary  for  me  to  return  im 
mediately  to  qualify  as  legatee.  It  was  the  merest  luck 
that  the  letter  came  to  my  hands  at  all,  for  it  had  been 
sent  to  Constantinople,  in  care  of  the  consul-general 
instead  of  my  banker  there.  It  was  not  Pickering's 
fault  that  the  consul  was  a  friend  of  mine  who  kept 


2    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

track  01  my  wanderings  and  was  able  to  hurry  the 
executor's  letter  after  me  to  Italy,  where  I  had  gone  to 
meet  an  English  financier  who  had,  I  was  advised,  un 
limited  money  to  spend  on  African  railways.  I  am  an 
engineer,  a  graduate  of  an  American  institution  famil 
iarly  known  as  "Tech/*  and  as  my  funds  were  running 
low,  I  naturally  turned  to  my  profession  for  employment. 

But  this  letter  changed  my  plans,  and  the  following 
day  I  cabled  Pickering  of  my  departure  and  was  out 
ward  bound  on  a  steamer  for  New  York.  Fourteen 
days  later  I  sat  in  Pickering's  office  in  the  Alexis  Build 
ing  and  listened  intently  while  he  read,  with  much 
ponderous  emphasis,  the  provisions  of  my  grandfather's 
will.  \Vhen  he  concluded,  I  laughed.  Pickering  was  a 
serious  man,  and  I  was  glad  to  see  that  my  levity  pained 
him.  I  had,  for  that  matter,  always  been  a  source  of 
annoyance  to  him,  and  his  look  of  distrust  and  rebuke 
did  not  trouble  me  in  the  least. 

I  reached  across  the  table  for  the  paper,  and  he  gave 
the  sealed  and  beribboned  copy  of  John  Marshall  Glen- 
arm's  will  into  my  hands.  I  read  it  through  for  myself, 
feeling  conscious  meanwhile  that  Pickering's  cool  gaze 
was  bent  inquiringly  upon  me.  These  are  the  para 
graphs  that  interested  me  most: 

I  give  and  bequeath  unto  my  said  grandson,  John  Glen- 
arm,  sometime  a  resident  of  the  City  and  State  of  New 


WILL  OF  JOHN  MARSHALL  GLENARM  3 

York,  and  later  a  vagabond  of  parts  unknown,  a  certain 
property  known  as  Glenarm  House,  with  the  land  there 
unto  pertaining  and  hereinafter  more  particularly  de 
scribed,  and  all  personal  property  of  whatsoever  kind 
thereunto  belonging  and  attached  thereto, — the  said  realty 
lying  in  the  County  of  Wabana  in  the  State  of  Indiana, — 
upon  this  condition,  faithfully  and  honestly  performed: 

That  said  John  Glenarm  shall  remain  for  the  period 
of  one  year  an  occupant  of  said  Glenarm  House  and  my 
lands  attached  thereto,  demeaning  himself  meanwhile  in 
an  orderly  and  temperate  manner.  Should  he  fail  at  any 
time  during  said  year  to  comply  with  this  provision,  said 
property  shall  revert  to  my  general  estate  and  become, 
without  reservation,  and  without  necessity  for  any  process 
of  law,  the  property,  absolutely,  of  Marian  Devereux,  of 
the  County  and  State  of  New  York. 


"Well,"  he  demanded,  striking  his  hands  upon  the 
arms  of  his  chair,  "what  do  you  think  of  it?" 

For  the  life  of  me  I  could  not  help  laughing  again. 
There  was,  in  the  first  place,  a  delicious  irony  in  the 
fact  that  I  should  learn  through  him  of  my  grand 
father's  wishes  with  respect  to  myself.  Pickering  and 
I  had  grown  up  in  the  same  town  in  Vermont ;  we  had 
attended  the  same  preparatory  school,  but  there  had 
been  from  boyhood  a  certain  antagonism  between  us. 
He  had  always  succeeded  where  I  had  failed,  which  is  to 
say,  I  must  admit,  that  he  had  succeeded  pretty  fre 
quently.  When  I  refused  to  settle  down  to  my  profes 
sion,  but  chose  to  see  something  of  the  world  first, 


4   THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

Pickering  gave  himself  seriously  to  the  law,  and  there 
was,  I  knew  from  the  beginning,  no  manner  of  chance 
that  he  would  fail. 

I  am  not  more  or  less  than  human,  and  I  remem 
bered  with  joy  that  once  I  had  thrashed  him  soundly 
at  the  prep  school  for  bullying  a  smaller  boy;  but  our 
score  from  school-days  was  not  without  tallies  on  his 
side.  He  was  easily  the  better  scholar — I  grant  him 
that;  and  he  was  shrewd  and  plausible.  You  never 
quite  knew  the  extent  of  his  powers  and  resources,  and 
he  had,  I  always  maintained,  the  most  amazing  good 
luck, — as  witness  the  fact  that  John  Marshall  Glenarm 
had  taken  a  friendly  interest  in  him.  It  was  wholly 
like  my  grandfather,  who  was  a  man  of  many  whims, 
to  give  his  affairs  into  Pickering's  keeping ;  and  I  could 
not  complain,  for  I  had  missed  my  own  chance  with 
him.  It  was,  I  knew  readily  enough,  part  of  my  pun 
ishment  for  having  succeeded  so  signally  in  incurring 
my  grandfather's  displeasure  that  he  had  made  it  nec 
essary  for  me  to  treat  with  Arthur  Pickering  in  this 
matter  of  the  will;  and  Pickering  was  enjoying  the 
situation  to  the  full.  He  sank  back  in  his  chair  with 
an  air  of  complacency  that  had  always  been  insufferable 
in  him.  I  was  quite  willing  to  be  patronized  by  a  man 
of  years  and  experience;  but  Pickering  was  my  own 
age,  and  his  experience  of  life  seemed  to  me  prepos- 


WILL    OP   JOHN    MARSHALL   GLENARM     5 

terously  inadequate.  To  find  him  settled  in  New  York, 
where  he  had  been  established  through  my  grandfather's 
generosity,  and  the  executor  of  my  grandfather's  estate, 
was  hard  to  bear. 

But  there  was  something  not  wholly  honest  in  my 
mirth,  for  my  conduct  during  the  three  preceding  years 
had  been  reprehensible.  I  had  used  my  grandfather 
shabbily.  My  parents  died  when  I  was  a  child,  and  he 
had  cared  for  me  as  far  back  as  my  memory  ran.  He 
had  suffered  me  to  spend  without  restraint  the  fortune 
left  by  my  father ;  he  had  expected  much  of  me,  and  I 
had  grievously  disappointed  him.  It  was  his  hope  that 
I  should  devote  myself  to  architecture,  a  profession  for 
which  he  had  the  greatest  admiration,  whereas  I  had 
insisted  on  engineering. 

I  am  not  writing  an  apology  for  my  life,  and  I  shall 
not  attempt  to  extenuate  my  conduct  in  going  abroad 
at  the  end  of  my  course  at  Tech  and,  when  I  made 
Laurance  Donovan's  acquaintance,  in  setting  off  with 
him  on  a  career  of  adventure.  I  do  not  regret,  though 
possibly  it  would  be  more  to  my  credit  if  I  did,  the 
months  spent  leisurely  following  the  Danube  east  of 
the  Iron  Gate — Laurance  Donovan  always  with  me, 
while  we  urged  the  villagers  and  inn-loafers  to  all  man 
ner  of  sedition,  acquitting  ourselves  so  well  that,  when 
we  came  out  into  the  Black  Sea  for  further  pleasure, 


6    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

Kussia  did  us  the  honor  to  keep  a  spy  at  our  heels.  I 
should  like,  for  my  own  satisfaction,  at  least,  to  set 
down  an  account  of  certain  affairs  in  which  we  were 
concerned  at  Belgrad,  but  without  Larry's  consent  I 
am  not  at  liberty  to  do  so.  Nor  shall  I  take  time  here 
to  describe  our  travels  in  Africa,  though  our  study  of 
the  Atlas  Mountain  dwarfs  won  us  honorable  mention 
by  the  British  Ethnological  Society. 

These  were  my  yesterdays ;  but  to-day  I  sat  in  Arthur 
Pickering's  office  in  the  towering  Alexis  Building,  con 
scious  of  the  muffled  roar  of  Broadway,  discussing  the 
terms  of  my  Grandfather  Glenarm's  will  with  a  man 
whom  I  disliked  as  heartily  as  it  is  safe  for  one  man  to 
dislike  another.  Pickering  had  asked  me  a  question, 
and  I  was  suddenly  aware  that  his  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
me  and  that  he  awaited  my  answer. 

"What  do  I  think  of  it?"  I  repeated.  "I  don't  know 
that  it  makes  any  difference  what  I  think,  but  I'll  tell 
you,  if  you  want  to  know,  that  I  call  it  infamous,  out 
rageous,  that  a  man  should  leave  a  ridiculous  will  of 
that  sort  behind  him.  All  the  old  money-bags  who  pile 
up  fortunes  magnify  the  importance  of  their  money. 
They  imagine  that  every  kindness,  every  ordinary  cour 
tesy  shown  them,  is  merely  a  bid  for  a  slice  of  the  cake. 
I'm  disappointed  in  my  grandfather.  He  was  a  splen 
did  old  man,  though  God  knows  he  had  his  queer  ways. 


I'll  bet  a  thousand  dollars,  if  I  have  so  much  money  in 
the  world,  that  this  scheme  is  yours,  Pickering,  and  not 
his.  It  smacks  of  your  ancient  vindictiveness,  and  John 
Marshall  Glenarm  had  none  of  that  in  his  blood.  That 
stipulation  about  my  residence  out  there  is  fantastic. 
I  don't  have  to  be  a  lawyer  to  know  that ;  and  no  doubt 
I  could  break  the  will;  Fve  a  good  notion  to  try  it, 
anyhow." 

"To  be  sure.  You  can  tie  up  the  estate  for  half 
a  dozen  years  if  you  like,"  he  replied  coolly.  He  did 
not  look  upon  me  as  likely  to  become  a  formidable 
litigant.  My  staying  qualities  had  been  proved  weak 
long  ago,  as  Pickering  knew  well  enough. 

"No  doubt  you  would  like  that,"  I  answered.  "But 
I'm  not  going  to  give  you  the  pleasure.  I  abide  by  the 
terms  of  the  will.  My  grandfather  was  a  fine  old  gen 
tleman.  I  shan't  drag  his  name  through  the  courts, — 
not  even  to  please  you,  Arthur  Pickering,"  I  declared 
hotly. 

"The  sentiment  is  worthy  of  a  good  man,  Glenarm/' 
he  rejoined. 

"But  this  woman  who  is  to  succeed  to  my  rights, — I 
don't  seem  to  remember  her." 

"It  is  not  surprising  that  you  never  heard  of  her." 

"Then  she's  not  a  connection  of  the  family, — no  long- 
lost  cousin  whom  I  ought  to  remember  ?" 


8   THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

<rN"o;  she  was  a  late  acquaintance  of  your  grand 
father's.  He  met  her  through  an  old  friend  of  his, — 
Miss  Evans,  known  as  Sister  Theresa.  Miss  Devereux 
is  Sister  Theresa's  niece." 

I  whistled.  I  had  a  dim  recollection  that  during  my 
grandfather's  long  widowerhood  there  were  occasional 
reports  that  he  was  about  to  marry.  The  name  of  Miss 
Evans  had  been  mentioned  in  this  connection.  I  had 
heard  it  spoken  of  in  my  family,  and  not,  I  remembered, 
with  much  kindness.  Later,  I  heard  of  her  joining  a 
Sisterhood,  and  opening  a  school  somewhere  in  the 
West. 

"And  Miss  Devereux, — is  she  an  elderly  nun,  too  ?" 

"I  don't  know  how  elderly  she  is,  but  she  isn't  a  nun 
at  present.  Still,  she's  almost  alone  in  the  world,  and 
she  and  Sister  Theresa  are  very  intimate." 

"Pass  the  will  again,  Pickering,  while  I  make  sure 
I  grasp  these  diverting  ideas.  Sister  Theresa  isn't  the 
one  I  mustn't  marry,  is  she?  It's  the  other  ecclesias 
tical  embroidery  artist, — the  one  with  the  x  in  her 
name,  suggesting  the  algebra  of  my  vanishing  youth." 

I  read  aloud  this  paragraph: 

Provided,  further,  that  in  the  event  of  the  marriage  of 
said  John  Glenarm  to  the  said  Marian  Devereux,  or  in 
the  event  of  any  promise  or  contract  of  marriage  between 
said  persons  within  five  years  from  the  date  of  said  John 


WILL  OF  JOHN  MARSHALL  GLENARM  9 

Glenarm's  acceptance  of  the  provisions  of  this  will,  the 
whole  estate  shall  become  the  property  absolutely  of  St. 
Agatha's  School,  at  Annandale,  Wabana  County,  Indiana, 
a  corporation  under  the  laws  of  said  state. 

"For  a  touch  of  comedy  commend  me  to  my  grand 
father!  Pickering,  you  always  were  a  well-meaning 
fellow, — I'll  turn  over  to  you  all  my  right,  interest  and 
title  in  and  to  these  angelic  Sisters.  Marry !  I  like  the 
idea !  I  suppose  some  one  will  try  to  marry  me  for  my 
money.  Marriage,  Pickering,  is  not  embraced  in  my 
scheme  of  life !" 

"I  should  hardly  call  you  a  marrying  man,"  he  ob 
served. 

"Perfectly  right,  my  friend !  Sister  Theresa  was  con 
sidered  a  possible  match  for  my  grandfather  in  my 
youth.  She  and  I  are  hardly  contemporaries.  And  the 
other  lady  with  the  fascinating  algebraic  climax  to  her 
name, — she,  too,  is  impossible ;  it  seems  that  I  can't  get 
the  money  by  marrying  her.  I'd  better  let  her  take  it. 
She's  as  poor  as  the  devil,  I  dare  say." 

"I  imagine  not.  The  Evanses  are  a  wealthy  family, 
in  spots,  and  she  ought  to  have  some  money  of  her  own 
if  her  aunt  doesn't  coax  it  out  of  her  for  educational 
schemes." 

"And  where  on  the  map  are  these  lovely  creatures  to 
be  found?" 


10   THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"Sister  Theresa's  school  adjoins  your  preserve;  Miss 
Devereux  has,  I  think,  some  of  your  own  weakness  for 
travel.  Sister  Theresa  is  her  nearest  relative,  and  she 
occasionally  visits  St.  Agatha's — that's  the  school." 

"I  suppose  they  emhroider  altar-cloths  together  and 
otherwise  labor  valiantly  to  bring  confusion  upon  Satan 
and  his  cohorts.  Just  the  people  to  pull  the  wool  over 
the  eyes  of  my  grandfather !" 

Pickering  smiled  at  my  resentment. 

"You'd  better  give  them  a  wide  berth;  they  might 
catch  you  in  their  net.  Sister  Theresa  is  said  to  have 
quite  a  winning  way.  She  certainly  plucked  your  grand 
father." 

"Nuns  in  spectacles,  the  gentle  educators  of  youth 
and  that  sort  of  thing,  with  a  good-natured  old  man  for 
their  prey.  None  of  them  for  me !" 

"I  rather  thought  so,"  remarked  Pickering, — and  he 
pulled  his  watch  from  his  pocket  and  turned  the  stem 
with  his  heavy  fingers.  He  was  short,  thick-set  and 
sleek,  with  a  square  jaw,  hair  already  thin  and  a  close- 
clipped  mustache.  Age,  I  reflected,  was  not  improving 
him. 

I  had  no  intention  of  allowing  him  to  see  that  I  was 
irritated.  I  drew  out  my  cigarette  case  and  passed  it 
across  the  table. 


WILL   OF   JOHN   MARSHALL   GLENARM   11 

"After  you !  They're  made  quite  specially  for  me  in 
Madrid." 

"You  forget  that  I  never  use  tobacco  in  any  form." 

"You  always  did  miss  a  good  deal  of  the  joy  of  liv 
ing,"  I  observed,  throwing  my  smoking  match  into  his 
waste-paper  basket,  to  his  obvious  annoyance.  "Well, 
I'm  the  bad  boy  of  the  story-books ;  but  I'm  really  sorry 
my  inheritance  has  a  string  tied  to  it.  I'm  about  out 
of  money.  I  suppose  you  wouldn't  advance  me  a  few 
thousands  on  my  expectations — " 

"Not  a  cent,"  he  declared,  with  quite  unnecessary 
vigor;  and  I  laughed  again,  remembering  that  in  my 
old  appraisement  of  him,  generosity  had  not  been  rep 
resented  in  large  figures.  "It's  not  in  keeping  with 
your  grandfather's  wishes  that  I  should  do  so.  You 
must  have  spent  a  good  bit  of  money  in  your  tiger- 
hunting  exploits,"  he  added. 

"I  have  spent  all  I  had,"  I  replied  amiably.  "Thank 
God  I'm  not  a  clam!  I've  seen  the  world  and  paid  for 
it.  I  don't  want  anything  from  you.  You  undoubtedly 
share  my  grandfather's  idea  of  me  that  I'm  a  wild  man 
who  can't  sit  still  or  lead  an  orderly,  decent  life;  but 
I'm  going  to  give  you  a  terrible  disappointment.  What's 
the  size  of  the  estate  ?" 

Pickering  eyed  me — uneasily,  I  thought — and  began 


12      THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

playing  with  a  pencil.  I  never  liked  Pickering's  hands ; 
they  were  thick  and  white  and  better  kept  than  I  like 
to  see  a  man's  hands. 

"I  fear  it's  going  to  be  disappointing.  In  his  trust- 
company  boxes  here  I  have  been  able  to  find  only  about 
ten  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  securities.  Possibly — 
quite  possibly — we  were  all  deceived  in  the  amount  of 
his  fortune.  Sister  Theresa  wheedled  large  sums  out  of 
him,  and  he  spent,  as  you  will  see,  a  small  fortune  on 
the  house  at  Annandale  without  finishing  it.  It  wasn't 
a  cheap  proposition,  and  in  its  unfinished  condition  it  is 
practically  valueless.  You  must  know  that  Mr.  Glenarm 
gave  away  a  great  deal  of  money  in  his  lifetime.  More 
over,  he  established  yonr  father.  You  know  what  he 
left, — it  was  not  a  small  fortune  as  those  things  are 
reckoned." 

I  was  restless  under  this  recital.  My  father's  estate 
had  been  of  respectable  size,  and  I  had  dissipated  the 
whole  of  it.  My  conscience  pricked  me  as  I  recalled  an 
item  of  forty  thousand  dollars  that  I  had  spent — some 
what  grandly — on  an  expedition  that  I  led,  with  con 
siderable  satisfaction  to  myself,  at  least,  through  the 
Sudan.  But  Pickering's  words  amazed  me. 

"Let  me  understand  you,"  I  said,  bending  toward 
him.  "My  grandfather  was  supposed  to  be  rich,  and 
yet  you  tell  me  you  find  little  property.  Sister  Theresa 


WILL  OF  JOHN  MARSHALL  GLENARM  13 

got  money  from  him  to  help  build  a  school.  How  much 
was  that?" 

"Fifty  thousand  dollars.  It  was  an  open  account. 
His  books  show  the  advances,  but  he  took  no  notes/' 

"And  that  claim  is  worth — ?" 

"It  is  good  as  against  her  individually.  But  she  con 
tends—" 

"Yes,  go  on !" 

I  had  struck  the  right  note.  He  was  annoyed  at  my 
persistence  and  his  apparent  discomfort  pleased  me. 

"She  refuses  to  pay.  She  says  Mr.  Glenarm  made  her 
a  gift  of  the  money." 

"That's  possible,  isn't  it?  He  was  for  ever  making 
gifts  to  churches.  Schools  and  theological  seminaries 
were  a  sort  of  weakness  with  him." 

"That  is  quite  true,  but  this  account  is  among  the 
assets  of  the  estate.  It's  my  business  as  executor  to  col 
lect  it." 

"We'll  pass  that.  If  you  get  this  money,  the  estate  is 
worth  sixty  thousand  dollars,  plus  the  value  of  the  land 
out  there  at  Annandale,  and  Glenarm  House  is  worth — " 

"There  you  have  me!" 

It  was  the  first  lightness  he  had  shown,  and  it  put  me 
on  guard. 

"I  should  like  an  idea  of  its  value.  Even  an  unfin 
ished  house  is  worth  something." 


14      THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"Land  out  there  is  worth  from  one  hundred  to  one 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars  an  acre.  There's  an  even 
hundred  acres.  I'll  be  glad  to  have  your  appraisement 
of  the  house  when  you  get  there." 

"Humph !  You  flatter  my  judgment,  Pickering.  The 
loose  stuff  there  is  worth  how  much  ?" 

"It's  all  in  the  library.  Your  grandfather's  weakness 
was  architecture — " 

"So  I  remember!"  I  interposed,  recalling  my  stormy 
interviews  with  John  Marshall  Glenarm  over  my  choice 
of  a  profession. 

"In  his  last  years  he  turned  more  and  more  to  his 
books.  He  placed  out  there  what  is,  I  suppose,  the 
finest  collection  of  books  relating  to  architecture  to  be 
found  in  this  country.  That  was  his  chief  hobby,  after 
church  affairs,  as  you  may  remember,  and  he  rode  it 
hard.  But  he  derived  a  great  deal  of  satisfaction  from 
his  studies." 

I  laughed  again;  it  was  better  to  laugh  than  to  cry 
over  the  situation. 

"I  suppose  he  wanted  me  to  sit  down  there,  sur 
rounded  by  works  on  architecture,  with  the  idea  that 
a  study  of  the  subject  would  be  my  only  resource.  The 
scheme  is  eminently  Glenarmian!  And  all  I  get  is  a 
worthless  house,  a  hundred  acres  of  land,  ten  thousand 
dollars,  and  a  doubtful  claim  against  a  Protestant  nun 


WILL   OF   JOHN    MARSHALL   GLENABM   15 

who  hoodwinked  my  grandfather  into  setting  up  a 
school  for  her.  Bless  your  heart,  man,  so  far  as  my  in 
heritance  is  concerned  it  would  have  been  money  in  my 
pocket  to  have  stayed  in  Africa." 

"That's  about  the  size  of  it." 

"But  the  personal  property  is  all  mine, — anything 
that's  loose  on  the  place.  Perhaps  my  grandfather 
planted  old  plate  and  government  bonds  just  to  pique 
the  curiosity  of  his  heirs,  successors  and  assigns.  It 
would  be  in  keeping !" 

I  had  walked  to  the  window  and  looked  out  across 
the  city.  As  I  turned  suddenly  I  found  Pickering's 
eyes  bent  upon  me  with  curious  intentness.  I  had  never 
liked  his  eyes;  they  were  too  steady.  When  a  man  al 
ways  meets  your  gaze  tranquilly  and  readily,  it  is  just 
as  well  to  be  wary  of  him. 

"Yes;  no  doubt  you  will  find  the  place  literally 
packed  with  treasure,"  he  said,  and  laughed.  "When 
you  find  anything  you  might  wire  me." 

He  smiled ;  the  idea  seemed  to  give  him  pleasure. 

"Are  you  sure  there's  nothing  else?"  I  asked.  "No 
substitute, — no  codicil  ?" 

"If  you  know  of  anything  of  the  kind  it's  your  duty 
to  produce  it.  We  have  exhausted  the  possibilities.  I'll 
admit  that  the  provisions  of  the  will  are  unusual ;  your 
grandfather  was  a  peculiar  man  in  many  respects ;  but 


1G       THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

he  was  thoroughly  sane  and  his  faculties  were  all  sound 
to  the  last." 

"He  treated  me  a  lot  better  than  I  deserved,"  I  said, 
with  a  heartache  that  I  had  not  known  often  in  my 
irresponsible  life;  but  I  could  not  afford  to  show  feel 
ing  before  Arthur  Pickering. 

I  picked  up  the  copy  of  the  will  and  examined  it. 
It  was  undoubtedly  authentic;  it  bore  the  certificate  of 
the  clerk  of  Wabana  County,  Indiana.  The  witnesses 
were  Thomas  Bates  and  Arthur  Pickering. 

"Who  is  Bates?"  I  asked,  pointing  to  the  man's  sig 
nature. 

"One  of  your  grandfather's  discoveries.  He's  in 
charge  of  the  house  out  there,  and  a  trustworthy  fellow. 
He's  a  fair  cook,  among  other  things.  I  don't  know 
where  Mr.  Glenarm  got  Bates,  but  he  had  every  con 
fidence  in  him.  The  man  was  with  him  at  the  end." 

A  picture  of  my  grandfather  dying,  alone  with  a 
servant,  while  I,  his  only  kinsman,  wandered  in  strange 
lands,  was  not  one  that  I  could  contemplate  with  much 
satisfaction.  My  grandfather  had  been  an  odd  little 
figure  of  a  man,  who  always  wore  a  long  black  coat  and  a 
silk  hat,  and  carried  a  curious  silver-headed  staff,  and 
said  puzzling  things  at  which  everybody  was  afraid  either 
to  laugh  or  to  cry.  He  refused  to  be  thanked  for  favors, 


WILL    OF    JOHN    MARSHALL    GLEN  ARM    17 

though  he  was  generous  and  helpful  and  constantly 
performing  kind  deeds.  His  whimsical  philanthropies 
were  often  described  in  the  newspapers.  He  had  once 
given  a  considerable  sum  of  money  to  a  fashionable 
church  in  Boston  with  the  express  stipulation,  which 
he  safeguarded  legally,  that  if  the  congregation  ever 
intrusted  its  spiritual  welfare  to  a  minister  named 
Reginald,  Harold  or  Claude,  an  amount  equal  to  his 
gift,  with  interest,  should  be  paid  to  the  Massachusetts 
Humane  Society. 

The  thought  of  him  touched  me  now.  I  was  glad  to 
feel  that  his  money  had  never  been  a  lure  to  me ;  it  did 
not  matter  whether  his  estate  was  great  or  small,  I 
could,  at  least,  ease  my  conscience  by  obeying  the  behest 
of  the  old  man  whose  name  I  bore,  and  whose  interest  in 
the  finer  things  of  life  and  art  had  given  him  an  un 
deniable  distinction. 

"I  should  like  to  know  something  of  Mr.  Glenarm's 
last  days,"  I  said  abruptly. 

"He  wished  to  visit  the  village  where  he  was  born, 
and  Bates,  his  companion  and  servant,  went  to  Vermont 
with  him.  He  died  quite  suddenly,  and  was  buried  be 
side  his  father  in  the  old  village  cemetery.  I  saw  him 
last  early  in  the  summer.  I  was  away  from  home  and 
did  not  know  of  his  death  until  it  was  all  over.  Bates 


18      THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

came  to  report  it  to  me,  and  to  sign  the  necessary  papers 
in  probating  the  will.  It  had  to  be  done  in  the  place  of 
the  decedent's  residence,  and  we  went  together  to  Wa- 
bana,  the  seat  of  the  county  in  which  Annandale  lies." 

I  was  silent  after  this,  looking  out  toward  the  sea 
that  had  lured  me  since  my  earliest  dreams  of  the  world 
that  lay  beyond  it. 

"It's  a  poor  stake,  Glenarm,"  remarked  Pickering 
consolingly,  and  I  wheeled  upon  him. 

"I  suppose  you  think  it  a  poor  stake !  I  suppose  you 
can't  see  anything  in  that  old  man's  life  beyond  his 
money ;  but  I  don't  care  a  curse  what  my  inheritance  is ! 
I  never  obeyed  any  of  my  grandfather's  wishes  in  his 
lifetime,  but  now  that  he's  dead  his  last  wish  is  man 
datory.  I'm  going  out  there  to  spend  a  year  if  I  die 
for  it.  Do  you  get  my  idea  ?" 

"Humph!  You  always  were  a  stormy  petrel,"  he 
sneered.  "I  fancy  it  will  be  safer  to  keep  our  most 
agreeable  acquaintance  on  a  strictly  business  basis.  If 
you  accept  the  terms  of  the  will — " 

"Of  course  I  accept  them !  Do  you  think  I  am  going 
to  make  a  row,  refuse  to  fulfil  that  old  man's  last  wish ! 
I  gave  him  enough  trouble  in  his  life  without  disap 
pointing  him  in  his  grave.  I  suppose  you'd  like  to  have 
me  fight  the  will ;  but  I'm  going  to  disappoint  you." 

He  said  nothing,  but  played  with  his  pencil.    I  had 


WILL   OF   JOHN   MAKSHALL   GLENAKM   19 

never  disliked  him  so  heartily;  he  was  so  smug  and 
comfortable.  His  office  breathed  the  very  spirit  of  pros 
perity.  I  wished  to  finish  my  business  and  get  away. 

"I  suppose  the  region  out  there  has  a  high  death-rate. 
How's  the  malaria?" 

"Not  alarmingly  prevalent,  I  understand.  There's  a 
summer  resort  over  on  one  side  of  Lake  Annandale. 
The  place  is  really  supposed  to  be  wholesome.  I  don't 
believe  your  grandfather  had  homicide  in  mind  in  send 
ing  you  there." 

"No,  he  probably  thought  the  rustication  would  make 
a  man  of  me.  Must  I  do  my  own  victualing  ?  I  suppose 
I'll  be  allowed  to  eat." 

"Bates  can  cook  for  you.  He'll  supply  the  necessi 
ties.  I'll  instruct  him  to  obey  your  orders.  I  assume 
you'll  not  have  many  guests, — in  fact," — he  studied  the 
back  of  his  hand  intently, — "while  that  isn't  stipulated, 
I  doubt  whether  it  was  your  grandfather's  intention 
that  you  should  surround  yourself — " 

"With  boisterous  companions !"  I  supplied  the  words 
in  my  cheerfullest  tone.  "No;  my  conduct  shall  be  ex 
emplary,  Mr.  Pickering,"  I  added,  with  affable  irony. 

He  picked  up  a  single  sheet  of  thin  type-written 
paper  and  passed  it  across  the  table.  It  was  a  formal 
acquiescence  in  the  provisions  of  the  will.  Pickering 
had  prepared  it  in  advance  of  my  coming,  and  this  as- 


20      THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

sumption  that  I  would  accept  the  terms  irritated  me. 
Assumptions  as  to  what  I  should  do  under  given  con 
ditions  had  always  irritated  me,  and  accounted,  in  a 
large  measure,  for  my  proneness  to  surprise  and  dis 
appoint  people.  Pickering  summoned  a  clerk  to  witness 
my  signature. 

"How  soon  shall  you  take  possession?"  he  asked.  "I 
have  to  make  a  record  of  that." 

"I  shall  start  for  Indiana  to-morrow,"  I  answered. 

"You  are  prompt,"  he  replied,  deliberately  folding  in 
quarters  the  paper  I  had  just  signed.  "I  hoped  you 
might  dine  with  me  before  going  out ;  but  I  fancy  New 
York  is  pretty  tame  after  the  cafes  and  bazaars  of  the 
East" 

His  reference  to  my  wanderings  angered  me  again; 
for  here  was  the  point  at  which  I  was  most  sensitive. 
I  was  twenty-seven  and  had  spent  my  patrimony ;  I  had 
tasted  the  bread  of  many  lands,  and  I  was  doomed  to 
spend  a  year  qualifying  myself  for  my  grandfather's 
legacy  by  settling  down  on  an  abandoned  and  lonely 
Indiana  farm  that  I  had  never  seen  and  had  no  interest 
in  whatever. 

As  I  rose  to  go  Pickering  said : 

"It  will  be  sufficient  if  you  drop  me  a  line,  say  once 
a  month,  to  let  me  know  you  are  there.  The  post-office 
is  Annandale." 


WILL   OF   JOHN   MAESHALL   GLENAEM  21 

"I  suppose  I  might  file  a  supply  of  postal  cards  in  the 
village  and  arrange  for  the  mailing  of  one  every 
month." 

"It  might  be  done  that  way,"  he  answered  evenly. 

"We  may  perhaps  meet  again,  if  I  don't  die  of  starv 
ation  or  ennui.  Good-by." 

We  shook  hands  stiffly  and  I  left  him,  going  down  in 
an  elevator  filled  with  eager-eyed,  anxious  men.  I,  at 
least,  had  no  cares  of  business.  It  made  no  difference 
to  me  whether  the  market  rose  or  fell.  Something  of 
the  spirit  of  adventure  that  had  been  my  curse  quick 
ened  in  my  heart  as  I  walked  through  crowded  Broad 
way  past  Trinity  Church  to  a  bank  and  drew  the  bal 
ance  remaining  on  my  letter  of  credit.  I  received  in 
currency  slightly  less  than  one  thousand  dollars. 

As  I  turned  from  the  teller's  window  I  ran  into  the 
arms  of  the  last  man  in  the  world  I  expected  to  see. 

This,  let  it  be  remembered,  was  in  October  of  the 
year  of  our  Lord,  nineteen  hundred  and  one. 


A  FACE  AT  SHERRY'S 

"Don't  mention  my  name  an  thou  lovest  me!"  said 
Laurance  Donovan,  and  he  drew  me  aside,  ignored  my 
hand  and  otherwise  threw  into  our  meeting  a  casual 
quality  that  was  somewhat  amazing  in  view  of  the  fact 
that  we  had  met  last  at  Cairo. 

"Allah  il  Allah!" 

It  was  undoubtedly  Larry.  I  felt  the  heat  of  the 
desert  and  heard  the  camel-drivers  cursing  and  our 
Sudanese  guides  plotting  mischief  under  a  window  far 
away. 

"Well !"  we  both  exclaimed  interrogatively. 

He  rocked  gently  back  and  forth,  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  on  the  tile  floor  of  the  banking-house.  I 
had  seen  him  stand  thus  once  on  a  time  when  we  had 
eaten  nothing  in  four  days — it  was  in  Abyssinia,  and 
our  guides  had  lost  us  in  the  worst  possible  place — with 
the  same  untroubled  look  in  his  eyes. 

"Please  don't  appear  surprised,  or  scared  or  any 
thing,  Jack,"  he  said,  with  his  delicious  intonation.  "I 

22 


A   FACE   AT    SHEEEY'S  23 

saw  a  fellow  looking  for  me  an  hour  or  so  ago.  He's 
been  at  it  for  several  months;  hence  my  presence  on 
these  shores  of  the  brave  and  the  free.  He's  probably 
still  looking,  as  he's  a  persistent  devil.  I'm  here,  as 
we  may  say,  quite  incog.  Staying  at  an  East-side  lodg 
ing-house,  where  I  shan't  invite  you  to  call  on  me. 
But  I  must  see  you." 

"Dine  with  me  to-night,  at  Sherry's — " 

"Too  big,  too  many  people — " 

"Therein  lies  security,  if  you're  in  trouble.  I'm  about 
to  go  into  exile^  and  I  want  to  eat  one  more  civilized 
dinner  before  I  go." 

"Perhaps  it's  just  as  well.  Where  are  you  off  for, — 
not  Africa  again?" 

"No.  Just  Indiana, — one  of  the  sovereign  American 
states,  as  you  ought  to  know." 

"Indians?" 

"No;  warranted  all  dead." 

"Pack-train — balloon — automobile — camels, — how  do 
you  get  there?" 

"Varnished  cars.  It's  easy.  It's  not  the  getting  there ; 
it's  the  not  dying  of  ennui  after  you're  on  the  spot." 

"Humph !  What  hour  did  you  say  for  the  dinner  ?" 

"Seven  o'clock.  Meet  me  at  the  entrance." 

"If  I'm  at  large!  Allow  me  to  precede  you  through 
the  door,  and  don't  follow  me  on  the  street,  please!" 


24      THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAXD  CAKDLES 

He  walked  away,  his  gloved  hands  clasped  lazily  be 
hind  him,  lounged  out  upon  Broadway  and  turned 
toward  the  Battery.  I  waited  until  he  disappeared,  then 
took  an  up-town  car. 

My  first  meeting  with  Laurance  Donovan  was  in  Con 
stantinople,  at  a  cafe  where  I  was  dining.  He  got  into 
a  row  with  an  Englishman  and  knocked  him  down.  It 
was  not  my  affair,  but  I  liked  the  ease  and  definiteness 
with  which  Larry  put  his  foe  out  of  commission.  I 
learned  later  that  it  was  a  way  he  had.  The  English 
man  meant  well  enough,  but  he  could  not,  of  course, 
know  the  intensity  of  Larry's  feeling  about  the  unhappy 
lot  of  Ireland.  In  the  beginning  of  my  own  acquaint 
ance  with  Donovan  I  sometimes  argued  with  him,  but  I 
soon  learned  better  manners.  He  quite  converted  me  to 
his  own  notion  of  Irish  affairs,  and  I  was  as  hot  an 
advocate  as  he  of  head-smashing  as  a  means  of  restoring 
Ireland's  lost  prestige. 

My  friend,  the  American  consul-general  at  Con 
stantinople,  was  not  without  a  sense  of  humor,  and  I 
easily  enlisted  him  in  Larry's  behalf.  The  Englishman 
thirsted  for  vengeance  and  invoked  all  the  powers.  He 
insisted,  with  reason,  that  Larry  was  a  British  subject 
and  that  the  American  consul  had  no  right  to  give  him 
asylum, — a  point  that  was,  I  understand,  thoroughly 
well-grounded  in  law  and  fact.  Larry  maintained,  on 


A   FACE   AT    SHEKKY'S  25 

the  other  hand,  that  he  was  not  English  but  Irish,  and 
that,  as  his  country  maintained  no  representative  in 
Turkey,  it  was  his  privilege  to  find  refuge  wherever  it 
was  offered.  Larry  was  always  the  most  plausible  of 
human  beings,  and  between  us, — he,  the  American  con 
sul  and  I, — we  made  an  impression,  and  got  him  off. 

I  did  not  realize  until  later  that  the  real  joke  lay  in 
the  fact  that  Larry  was  English-born,  and  that  his  de 
votion  to  Ireland  was  purely  sentimental  and  quixotic. 
His  family  had,  to  be  sure,  come  out  of  Ireland  some 
time  in  the  dim  past,  and  settled  in  England ;  but  when 
Larry  reached  years  of  knowledge,  if  not  of  discretion, 
he  cut  Oxford  and  insisted  on  taking  his  degree  at 
Dublin.  He  even  believed, — or  thought  he  believed, — 
in  banshees.  He  allied  himself  during  his  university 
days  with  the  most  radical  and  turbulent  advocates  of 
a  separate  national  existence  for  Ireland,  and  occa 
sionally  spent  a  month  in  jail  for  rioting.  But  Larry's 
instincts  were  scholarly;  he  made  a  brilliant  record  at 
the  University;  then,  at  twenty-two,  he  came  forth  to 
look  at  the  world,  and  liked  it  exceedingly  well.  His 
father  was  a  busy  man,  and  he  had  other  sons;  he 
granted  Larry  an  allowance  and  told  him  to  keep  away 
from  home  until  he  got  ready  to  be  respectable.  So, 
from  Constantinople,  after  a  tour  of  Europe,  we  to 
gether  crossed  the  Mediterranean  in  search  of  the  flesh- 


26   THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

pots  of  lost  kingdoms,  spending  three  years  in  the  pur 
suit.  We  parted  at  Cairo  on  excellent  terms.  He  re 
turned  to  England  and  later  to  his  beloved  Ireland,  for 
he  had  blithely  sung  the  wildest  Gaelic  songs  in  the 
darkest  days  of  our  adventures,  and  never  lost  his  love 
for  The  Sod,  as  he  apostrophized — and  capitalized — his 
adopted  country. 

Larry  had  the  habit  of  immaculateness.  He  emerged 
from  his  East-side  lodging-house  that  night  clothed 
properly,  and  wearing  the  gentlemanly  air  of  peace  and 
reserve  that  is  so  wholly  incompatible  with  his  dispo 
sition  to  breed  discord  and  indulge  in  riot.  When  we 
sat  down  for  a  leisurely  dinner  at  Sherry's  we  were  not, 
I  modestly  maintain,  a  forbidding  pair.  We — if  I  may 
drag  myself  into  the  matter — are  both  a  trifle  under 
the  average  height,  sinewy,  nervous,  and,  just  then, 
trained  fine.  Our  lean,  clean-shaven  faces  were  well- 
browned — mine  wearing  a  fresh  coat  from  my  days  on 
the  steamer's  deck. 

Larry  had  never  been  in  America  before,  and  the 
scene  had  for  both  of  us  the  charm  of  a  gay  and  novel 
spectacle.  I  have  always  maintained,  in  talking  to 
Larry  of  nations  and  races,  that  the  Americans  are  the 
handsomest  and  best  put-up  people  in  the  world,  and  I 
believe  he  was  persuaded  of  it  that  night  as  we  gazed 
with  eyes  long  unaccustomed  to  splendor  upon  the  great 


27 

company  assembled  in  the  restaurant.  The  lights,  the 
music,  the  variety  and  richness  of  the  costumes  of  the 
women,  the  many  unmistakably  foreign  faces,  wrought 
a  welcome  spell  on  senses  inured  to  hardship  in  the 
waste  and  dreary  places  of  earth. 

"Now  tell  me  the  story,"  I  said.  "Have  you  done 
murder  ?  Is  the  offense  treasonable  ?" 

"It  was  a  tenants'  row  in  Galway,  and  I  smashed  a 
constable.  I  smashed  him  pretty  hard,  I  dare  say,  from 
the  row  they  kicked  up  in  the  newspapers.  I  lay  low 
for  a  couple  of  weeks,  caught  a  boat  to  Queenstown,  and 
here  I  am,  waiting  for  a  chance  to  get  back  to  The  Sod 
without  going  in  irons." 

"You  were  certainly  born  to  be  hanged,  Larry.  You'd 
better  stay  in  America.  There's  more  room  here  than 
anywhere  else,  and  it's  not  easy  to  kidnap  a  man  in 
America  and  carry  him  off." 

"Possibly  not ;  and  yet  the  situation  isn't  wholly  tran 
quil,"  he  said,  transfixing  a  bit  of  pompano  with  his 
fork.  "Kindly  note  the  florid  gentleman  at  your  right 
— at  the  table  with  four — he's  next  the  lady  in  pink. 
It  may  interest  you  to  know  that  he's  the  British 
consul." 

"Interesting,  but  not  important.  You  don't  for  a 
moment  suppose — ': 

"That  he's  looking  for  me?   Not  at  all.    But  he  un- 


28   THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

doubtedly  has  my  name  on  his  tablets.  The  detective 
that's  here  following  me  around  is  pretty  dull.  He  lost 
me  this  morning  while  I  was  talking  to  you  in  the 
bank.  Later  on  I  had  the  pleasure  of  trailing  him  for 
an  hour  or  so  until  he  finally  brought  up  at  the  British 
consul's  office.  Thanks;  no  more  of  the  fish.  Let  us 
banish  care.  I  wasn't  born  to  be  hanged ;  and  as  I'm  a 
political  offender,  I  doubt  whether  I  can  be  deported  if 
they  lay  hands  on  me." 

He  watched  the  bubbles  in  his  glass  dreamily,  holding 
it  up  in  his  slim  well-kept  fingers. 

"Tell  me  something  of  your  own  immediate  present 
and  future/'  he  said. 

I  made  the  story  of  my  Grandfather  Glenarm's  legacy 
as  brief  as  possible,  for  brevity  was  a  definite  law  of  our 
intercourse. 

"A  year,  you  say,  with  nothing  to  do  but  fold  your 
hands  and  wait.  It  doesn't  sound  awfully  attractive  to 
me.  I'd  rather  do  without  the  money." 

"But  I  intend  to  do  some  work.  I  owe  it  to  my  grand 
father's  memory  to  make  good,  if  there's  any  good  in 
me." 

"The  sentiment  is  worthy  of  you,  Glenarm,"  he  said 
mockingly.  "What  do  you  see — a  ghost?" 

I  must  have  started  slightly  at  espying  suddenly 
Arthur  Pickering  not  twenty  feet  away.  A  party  of 


A   FACE   AT    SHERRY'S  29 

half  a  dozen  or  more  had  risen,  and  Pickering  and  a 
girl  were  detached  from  the  others  for  a  moment. 

She  was  young, — quite  the  youngest  in  the  group 
about  Pickering's  table.  A  certain  girlishness  of  height 
and  outline  may  have  been  emphasized  by  her  juxtapo 
sition  to  Pickering's  heavy  figure.  She  was  in  black, 
with  white  showing  at  neck  and  wrists, — a  somber  con 
trast  to  the  other  women  of  the  party,  who  were  arrayed 
with  a  degree  of  splendor.  She  had  dropped  her  fan, 
and  Pickering  stooped  to  pick  it  up.  In  the  second  that 
she  waited  she  turned  carelessly  toward  me,  and  our 
eyes  met  for  an  instant.  Very  likely  she  was  Pickering's 
sister,  and  I  tried  to  reconstruct  his  family,  which  I  had 
known  in  my  youth ;  but  I  could  not  place  her.  As  she 
walked  out  before  him  my  eyes  followed  her, — the  erect 
figure,  free  and  graceful,  but  with  a  charming  dignity 
and  poise,  and  the  gold  of  her  fair  hair  glinting  under 
her  black  toque. 

Her  eyes,  as  she  turned  them  full  upon  me,  were  the 
saddest,  loveliest  eyes  I  had  ever  seen,  and  even  in  that 
brilliant,  crowded  room  I  felt  their  spell.  They  were 
fixed  in  my  memory  indelibly, — mournful,  dreamy  and 
wistful.  In  my  absorption  I  forgot  Larry. 

"You're  taking  unfair  advantage,"  he  observed  quiet 
ly.  "Friends  of  yours  ?" 

"The   big    chap    in    the   lead    is    my   friend    Pick- 


30      THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 
ering,"  I  answered;  and  Larry  turned  his  head  slight- 

iy- 

"Yes,  I  supposed  you  weren't  looking  at  the  women," 
he  observed  dryly.  "I'm  sorry  I  couldn't  see  the  object 
of  your  interest.  Bah !  these  men !" 

I  laughed  carelessly  enough,  but  I  was  already  sum 
moning  from  my  memory  the  grave  face  of  the  girl  in 
black, — her  mournful  eyes,  the  glint  of  gold  in  her  hair. 
Pickering  was  certainly  finding  the  pleasant  places  in 
this  vale  of  tears,  and  I  felt  my  heart  hot  against  him. 
It  hurts,  this  seeing  a  man  you  have  never  liked  suc 
ceeding  where  you  have  failed ! 

"Why  didn't  you  present  me?  I'd  like  to  make  the 
acquaintance  of  a  few  representative  Americans, — I 
may  need  them  to  go  bail  for  me." 

"Pickering  didn't  see  me,  for  one  thing;  and  for 
another  he  wouldn't  go  bail  for  you  or  me  if  he  did. 
He  isn't  built  that  way." 

Larry  smiled  quizzically. 

"You  needn't  explain  further.  The  sight  of  the  lady 
has  shaken  you.  She  reminds  me  of  Tennyson: 

"'The  star-like   sorrows  of  immortal   eyes — ' 
and  the  rest  of  it  ought  to  be  a  solemn  warning  to  you, 
— many  'drew  swords  and  died,'  and  calamity  followed 
in  her  train.   Bah!  these  women!   I  thought  you  were 
past  all  that!" 


:&•*>{ 


She  turned  carelessly  toward  me,  and  our  eyes  met  for  an  instant. 

Page  29 


A   FACE   AT    SHERRY'S  31 

"I  don't  know  why  a  man  should  be  past  it  at  twenty- 
seven  !  Besides,  Pickering's  friends  are  strangers  to  me. 
But  what  became  of  that  Irish  colleen  you  used  to 
moon  over?  Her  distinguishing  feature,  as  I  remem 
ber  her  photograph,  was  a  short  upper  lip.  You  used 
to  force  her  upon  me  frequently  when  we  were  in 
Africa." 

"Humph !  When  I  got  back  to  Dublin  I  found  that 
she  had  married  a  brewer's  son, — think  of  it  I" 

"Put  not  your  faith  in  a  short  upper  lip !  Her  face 
never  inspired  any  confidence  in  me." 

"That  will  do,  thank  you.  I'll  have  a  bit  more  of  that 
mayonnaise  if  the  waiter  isn't  dead.  I  think  you  said 
your  grandfather  died  in  June.  A  letter  advising  you 
of  the  fact  reached  you  at  Naples  in  October.  Has  it 
occurred  to  you  that  there  was  quite  an  interim  there  ? 
What,  may  I  ask,  was  the  executor  doing  all  that  time  ? 
You  may  be  sure  he  was  taking  advantage  of  the  oppor 
tunity  to  look  for  the  red,  red  gold.  I  suppose  you 
didn't  give  him  a  sound  drubbing  for  not  keeping  the 
cables  hot  with  inquiries  for  you  ?" 

He  eyed  me  in  that  disdain  for  my  stupidity  which 
I  have  never  suffered  from  any  other  man. 

"Well,  no;  to  tell  the  truth,  I  was  thinking  of  other 
things  during  the  interview." 


32   THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

<rYour  grandfather  should  have  provided  a  guardian 
for  you,  lad.  You  oughtn't  to  be  trusted  with  money. 
Is  that  bottle  empty  ?  Well,  if  that  person  with  the  fat 
neck  was  your  friend  Pickering,  I'd  have  a  care  of 
what's  coming  to  me.  I'd  be  quite  sure  that  Mr.  Pick 
ering  hadn't  made  away  with  the  old  gentleman's 
boodle,  or  that  it  didn't  get  lost  on  the  way  from  him 
to  me." 

"The  time's  running  now,  and  I'm  in  for  the  year. 
My  grandfather  was  a  fine  old  gentleman,  and  I  treated 
him  like  a  dog.  I'm  going  to  do  what  he  directs  in  that 
will  no  matter  what  the  size  of  the  reward  may  be." 

" Certainly;  that's  the  eminently  proper  thing  for 
you  to  do.  But, — but  keep  your  wits  about  you.  If  a 
fellow  with  that  neck  can't  find  money  where  money 
has  been  known  to  exist,  it  must  be  buried  pretty  deep. 
Your  grandfather  was  a  trifle  eccentric,  I  judge,  but 
not  a  fool  by  any  manner  of  means.  The  situation  ap 
peals  to  my  imagination,  Jack.  I  like  the  idea  of  it, — 
the  lost  treasure  and  the  whole  business.  Lord,  what  a 
salad  that  is!  Cheer  up,  comrade!  You're  as  grim  as 
an  owl !" 

Whereupon  we  fell  to  talking  of  people  and  places  we 
had  known  in  other  lands. 

We  spent  the  next  day  together,  and  in  the  evening, 


A   FACE   AT    SHERRY'S  33 

at  my  hotel,  he  criticized  my  effects  while  I  packed,  in 
his  usual  ironical  vein. 

"You're  not  going  to  take  those  things  with  you,  I 
hope!"  He  indicated  the  rifles  and  several  revolvers 
which  I  brought  from  the  closet  and  threw  upon  the 
bed.  "They  make  me  homesick  for  the  jungle/' 

He  drew  from  its  cover  the  heavy  rifle  I  had  used 
last  on  a  leopard  hunt  and  tested  its  weight. 

"Precious  little  use  you'll  have  for  this!  Better  let 
me  take  it  back  to  The  Sod  to  use  on  the  landlords. 
I  say,  Jack,  are  we  never  to  seek  our  fortunes  together 
again  ?  We  hit  it  off  pretty  well,  old  man,  come  to  think 
of  it, — I  don't  like  to  lose  you." 

He  bent  over  the  straps  of  the  rifle-case  with  unnec 
essary  care,  but  there  was  a  quaver  in  his  voice  that  was 
not  like  Larry  Donovan. 

"Come  with  me  now!"  I  exclaimed,  wheeling  upon 
him. 

"I'd  rather  be  with  you  than  with  any  other  living 
man,  Jack  Grlenarm,  but  I  can't  think  of  it.  I  have  my 
own  troubles ;  and,  moreover,  you've  got  to  stick  it  out 
there  alone.  It's  part  of  the  game  the  old  gentleman 
set  up  for  you,  as  I  understand  it.  Go  ahead,  collect 
your  fortune,  and  then,  if  I  haven't  been  hanged  in  the 
meantime,  we'll  join  forces  later.  There's  no  chap  any- 


34   THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

where  with  a  pleasanter  knack  at  spending  money  than 
your  old  friend  L.  D." 

He  grinned,  and  I  smiled  ruefully,  knowing  that  we 
must  soon  part  again,  for  Larry  was  one  of  the  few 
men  I  had  ever  called  friend,  and  this  meeting  had  only 
quickened  my  old  affection  for  him. 

"I  suppose,"  he  continued,  "you  accept  as  gospel 
truth  what  that  fellow  tells  you  about  the  estate.  I 
should  be  a  little  wary  if  I  were  you.  Now,  I've  been 
kicking  around  here  for  a  couple  of  weeks,  dodging  the 
detectives,  and  incidentally  reading  the  newspapers. 
Perhaps  you  don't  understand  that  this  estate  of  John 
Marshall  Glenarm  has  been  talked  about  a  good  bit." 

"I  didn't  know  it,"  I  admitted  lamely.  Larry  had 
always  been  able  to  instruct  me  about  most  matters ;  it 
was  wholly  possible  that  he  could  speak  wisely  about  my 
inheritance. 

"You  couldn't  know,  when  you  were  coming  from 
the  Mediterranean  on  a  steamer.  But  the  house  out 
there  and  the  mysterious  disappearance  of  the  property 
have  been  duly  discussed.  You're  evidently  an  object 
of  some  public  interest," — and  he  drew  from  his  pocket 
a  newspaper  cutting.  "Here's  a  sample  item."  He  read : 

"John  Glenarm,  the  grandson  of  John  Marshall  Glen- 
arm,  the  eccentric  millionaire  who  died  suddenly  in  Ver 
mont  last  summer,  arrived  on  the  Maxinkuckee  from  Na- 


A   FACE   AT    SHERRY'S  35 

pies  yesterday.  Under  the  terms  of  his  grandfather's 
will,  Glenarm  is  required  to  reside  for  a  year  at  a  curious 
house  established  by  John  Marshall  Glenarm  near  Lake 
Annandale,  Indiana. 

This  provision  was  made,  according  to  friends  of  the 
family,  to  test  young  Glenarm's  staying  qualities,  as  he 
has,  since  his  graduation  from  the  Massachusetts  Insti 
tute  of  Technology  five  years  ago,  distributed  a  considera 
ble  fortune  left  him  by  his  father  in  contemplating  the 
wonders  of  the  old  world,  it  is  reported — " 


"That  will  do!  Signs  and  wonders  I  have  certainly 
beheld,  and  if  I  spent  the  money  I  submit  that  I  got 
my  money  back." 

I  paid  my  bill  and  took  a  hansom  for  the  ferry, — 
Larry  with  me,  chaffing  away  drolly  with  his  old  zest. 
He  crossed  with  me,  and  as  the  boat  drew  out  into  the 
river  a  silence  fell  upon  us, — the  silence  that  is  possible 
only  between  old  friends.  As  I  looked  back  at  the  lights 
of  the  city,  something  beyond  the  sorrow  at  parting 
from  a  comrade  touched  me.  A  sense  of  foreboding,  of 
coming  danger,  crept  into  my  heart.  But  I  was  going 
upon  the  tamest  possible  excursion;  for  the  first  time 
in  my  life  I  was  submitting  to  the  direction  of  another, 
— albeit  one  who  lay  in  the  grave.  How  like  my  grand 
father  it  was,  to  die  leaving  this  compulsion  upon  me ! 
My  mood  changed  suddenly,  and  as  the  boat  bumped  at 
the  pier  I  laughed. 


36   THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"Bah !  these  men !"  ejaculated  Larry. 

"What  men?"  I  demanded,  giving  my  bags  to  a 
porter. 

"These  men  who  are  in  love/'  he  said.  "I  know  the 
signs, — mooning,  silence,  sudden  inexplicable  laughter ! 
I  hope  I'll  not  be  in  jail  when  you're  married." 

"You'll  be  in  a  long  time  if  they  hold  you  for  that. 
Here's  my  train." 

We  talked  of  old  times,  and  of  future  meetings,  dur 
ing  the  few  minutes  that  remained. 

"You  can  write  me  at  my  place  of  rustication,"  I 
said,  scribbling  "Annandale,  Wabana  County,  Indiana," 
on  a  card.  "Now  if  you  need  me  at  any  time  I'll  come 
to  you  wherever  you  are.  You  understand  that,  old  man. 
Good-by." 

"Write  me,  care  of  my  father — he'll  have  my  address, 
though  this  last  row  of  mine  made  him  pretty  hot." 

I  passed  through  the  gate  and  down  the  long  train 
to  my  sleeper.  Turning,  with  my  foot  on  the  step,  I 
waved  a  farewell  to  Larry,  who  stood  outside  watch 
ing  me. 

In  a  moment  the  heavy  train  was  moving  slowly  out 
into  the  night  upon  its  westward  journey. 


CHAPTER   III 

THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND   CANDLES 

Annandale  derives  its  chief  importance  from  the  fact 
that  two  railway  lines  intersect  there.  The  Chicago 
Express  paused  only  for  a  moment  while  the  porter  de 
posited  my  things  beside  me  on  the  platform.  Light 
streamed  from  the  open  door  of  the  station;  a  few 
idlers  paced  the  platform,  staring  into  the  windows  of 
the  cars;  the  village  hackman  languidly  solicited  my 
business.  Suddenly  out  of  the  shadows  came  a  tall, 
curious  figure  of  a  man  clad  in  a  long  ulster.  As  I 
write,  it  is  with  a  quickening  of  the  sensation  I  received 
on  the  occasion  of  my  first  meeting  with  Bates.  His 
lank  gloomy  figure  rises  before  me  now,  and  I  hear  his 
deep  melancholy  voice,  as,  touching  his  hat  respect 
fully,  he  said : 

"Beg  pardon,  sir;  is  this  Mr.  Glenarm?  I  am  Bates 
from  Glenarm  House.  Mr.  Pickering  wired  me  to  meet 
you,  sir." 

"Yes ;  to  be  sure,"  I  said. 

The  hackman  was  already  gathering  up  my  traps, 
and  I  gave  him  my  trunk-checks. 

37 


38      THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"How  far  is  it  ?"  I  asked,  my  eyes  resting,  a  little  re 
gretfully,  I  must  confess,  on  the  rear  lights  of  the  van 
ishing  train. 

"Two  miles,  sir/*  Bates  replied.  "There's  no  way 
over  but  the  hack  in  winter.  In  summer  the  steamer 
comes  right  into  our  dock." 

"My  legs  need  stretching;  I'll  walk,"  I  suggested, 
drawing  the  cool  air  into  my  lungs.  It  was  a  still,  starry 
October  night,  and  its  freshness  was  grateful  after  the 
hot  sleeper.  Bates  accepted  the  suggestion  without 
comment.  We  walked  to  the  end  of  the  platform,  where 
the  hackman  was  already  tumbling  my  trunks  about, 
and  after  we  had  seen  them  piled  upon  his  nondescript 
wagon,  I  followed  Bates  down  through  the  broad  quiet 
street  of  the  village.  There  was  more  of  Annandale 
than  I  had  imagined,  and  several  tall  smoke-stacks 
loomed  here  and  there  in  the  thin  starlight. 

"Brick-yards,  sir,"  said  Bates,  waving  his  hand  at 
the  stacks.  "It's  a  considerable  center  for  that  kind  of 
business." 

"Bricks  without  straw?"  I  asked,  as  we  passed  a 
radiant  saloon  that  blazed  upon  the  board  walk. 

"Beg  pardon,  sir,  but  such  places  are  the  ruin  of 
men," — on  which  remark  I  based  a  mental  note  that 
Bates  wished  to  impress  me  with  his  own  rectitude. 

He  swung  along  beside  me,  answering  questions  with 


THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES      39 
f 

dogged  brevity.  Clearly,  here  was  a  man  who  had  re 
duced  human  intercourse  to  a  basis  of  necessity.  I  was 
to  be  shut  up  with  him  for  a  year,  and  he  was  not  likely 
to  prove  a  cheerful  jailer.  My  feet  struck  upon  a  grav 
eled  highway  at  the  end  of  the  village  street,  and  I 
heard  suddenly  the  lapping  of  water. 

"It's  the  lake,  sir.  This  road  leads  right  out  to  the 
house,"  Bates  explained. 

I  was  doomed  to  meditate  pretty  steadily,  I  imagined, 
on  the  beauty  of  the  landscape  in  these  parts,  and  I 
was  rejoiced  to  know  that  it  was  not  all  cheerless  prairie 
or  gloomy  woodland.  The  wind  freshened  and  blew 
sharply  upon  us  off  the  water. 

"The  fishing's  quite  good  in  season.  Mr.  Glenarm 
used  to  take  great  pleasure  in  it.  Bass, — yes,  sir.  Mr. 
Glenarm  held  there  was  nothing  quite  equal  to  a  black 
bass.'\ 

I  liked  the  way  the  fellow  spoke  of  my  grandfather. 
He  was  evidently  a  loyal  retainer.  No  doubt  he  could 
summon  from  the  past  many  pictures  of  my  grand 
father,  and  I  determined  to  encourage  his  confidence. 

Any  resentment  I  felt  on  first  hearing  the  terms  of 
my  grandfather's  will  had  passed.  He  had  treated  me 
as  well  as  I  deserved,  and  the  least  I  could  do  was  to 
accept  the  penalty  he  had  laid  upon  me  in  a  sane  and 
amiable  spirit.  This  train  of  thought  occupied  me  as 


40   THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CAXDLES 

we  tramped  along  the  highway.  The  road  now  led  away 
from  the  lake  and  through  a  heavy  wood.  Presently,  on 
the  right  loomed  a  dark  barrier,  and  I  put  out  my  hand 
and  touched  a  wall  of  rough  stone  that  rose  to  a  height 
of  about  eight  feet. 

"What  is  this.  Bates?"  I  asked. 

"This  is  Glenarm  land.,  sir.  The  wall  was  one  of 
your  grandfather's  ideas.  It's  a  quarter  of  a  mile  long 
and  cost  him  a  pretty  penny,  I  warrant  you.  The  road 
turns  off  from  the  lake  now,  but  the  Glenarm  property 
is  all  lake  front." 

So  there  was  a  wall  about  my  prison  house !  I  grinned 
cheerfully  to  myself.  "When,  a  few  moments  later,  my 
guide  paused  at  an  arched  gateway  in  the  long  wall, 
drew  from  his  overcoat  a  bunch  of  keys  and  fumbled  at 
the  lock  of  an  iron  gate,  I  felt  the  spirit  of  adventure 
quicken  within  me. 

The  gate  clicked  behind  us  and  Bates  found  a  lantern 
and  lighted  it  with  the  ease  of  custom. 

"I  use  this  gate  because  it's  nearer.  The  regular  en 
trance  is  farther  down  the  road.  Keep  close,  sir,  as  the 
timber  isn't  much  cleared." 

The  undergrowth  was  indeed  heavy,  and  I  followed 
the  lantern  of  my  guide  with  difficulty.  In  the  darkness 
the  place  seemed  as  wild  and  rough  as  a  tropical  wil 
derness. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES      41 

"Only  a  little  farther,"  rose  Bates'  voice  ahead  of 
me;  and  then:  "There's  the  light,  sir," — and,  lifting 
my  eyes,  as  I  stumbled  over  the  roots  of  a  great  tree,  I 
saw  for  the  first  time  the  dark  outlines  of  Glenarm 
House. 

"Here  we  are,  sir!"  exclaimed  Bates,  stamping  his 
feet  upon  a  walk.  I  followed  him  to  what  I  assumed  to 
be  the  front  door  of  the  house,  where  a  lamp  shone 
brightly  at  either  side  of  a  massive  entrance.  Bates 
flung  it  open  without  ado,  and  I  stepped  quickly  into 
a  great  hall  that  was  lighted  dimly  by  candles  fastened 
into  brackets  on  the  walls. 

"I  hope  you've  not  expected  too  much,  Mr.  Glenarm," 
said  Bates,  with  a  tone  of  mild  apology.  "It's  very  in 
complete  for  living  purposes." 

"Well,  we've  got  to  make  the  best  of  it,"  I  answered, 
though  without  much  cheer.  The  sound  of  our  steps 
reverberated  and  echoed  in  the  well  of  a  great  staircase. 
There  was  not,  as  far  as  I  could  see,  a  single  article  of 
furniture  in  the  place. 

"Here's  something  you'll  like  better,  sir," — and  Bates 
paused  far  down  the  hall  and  opened  a  door. 

A  single  candle  made  a  little  pool  of  light  in  what  I 
felt  to  be  a  large  room.  I  was  prepared  for  a  disclosure 
'of. barren  ugliness,  and  waited,  in  heartsick  foreboding, 
'for^the  silent  guide  to  reveal  a  dreary  prison. 


42      THE  HOUSE  OP  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"Please  sit  here,  sir,"  said  Bates,  "while  I  make  a 
better  light." 

He  moved  through  the  dark  room  with  perfect  ease, 
struck  a  match,  lighted  a  taper  and  went  swiftly  and 
softly  about.  He  touched  the  taper  to  one  candle  after 
another, — they  seemed  to  be  everywhere, — and  won 
from  the  dark  a  faint  twilight,  that  yielded  slowly  to  a 
growing  mellow  splendor  of  light.  I  have  often  watched 
the  acolytes  in  dim  cathedrals  of  the  Old  World  set 
countless  candles  ablaze  on  magnificent  altars, — always 
with  awe  for  the  beauty  of  the  spectacle;  but  in  this 
unknown  house  the  austere  serving-man  summoned 
from  the  shadows  a  lovelier  and  more  bewildering  en 
chantment.  Youth  alone,  of  beautiful  things,  is  lovelier 
than  light. 

The  lines  of  the  walls  receded  as  the  light  increased, 
and  the  raftered  ceiling  drew  away,  luring  the  eyes  up 
ward.  I  rose  with  a  smothered  exclamation  on  my  lips 
and  stared  about,  snatching  off  my  hat  in  reverence  as 
the  spirit  of  the  place  wove  its  spell  about  me.  Every 
where  there  were  books;  they  covered  the  walls  to  the 
ceiling,  with  only  long  French  windows  and  an  enor 
mous  fireplace  breaking  the  line.  Above  the  fireplace  a 
massive  dark  oak  chimney-breast  further  emphasized 
the  grand  scale  of  the  room.  From  every  conceivable 
place — from  shelves  built  for  the  purpose,  from  brackets 


THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES   43 

that  thrust  out  long  arms  among  the  books,  from  a 
great  crystal  chandelier  suspended  from  the  ceiling,  and 
from  the  breast  of  the  chimney — innumerable  candles 
blazed  with  dazzling  brilliancy.  I  exclaimed  in  wonder- 
and  pleasure  as  Bates  paused,  his  sorcerer's  wand  in 
hand. 

"Mr.  Glenarm  was  very  fond  of  candle-light;  he 
liked  to  gather  up  candlesticks,  and  his  collection  is 
very  fine.  He  called  his  place  'The  House  of  a  Thou 
sand  Candles/  There's  only  about  a  hundred  here; 
but  it  was  one  of  his  conceits  that  when  the  house  was 
finished  there  would  be  a  thousand  lights.  He  had  quite 
a  joking  way,  your  grandfather.  It  suited  his  humor 
to  call  it  a  thousand.  He  enjoyed  his  own  pleasantries, 
sir." 

"I  fancy  he  did,"  I  replied,  staring  in  bewilderment. 

"Oil  lamps  might  be  more  suited  to  your  own  taste, 
sir.  But  your  grandfather  would  not  have  them.  Old 
brass  and  copper  were  specialties  with  him,  and  he  had 
a  particular  taste,  Mr.  Glenarm  had,  in  glass  candle 
sticks.  He  held  that  the  crystal  was  most  effective  of 
all.  I'll  go  and  let  in  the  baggageman  and  then  serve 
you  some  supper." 

He  went  somberly  out  and  I  examined  the  room  with 
amazed  and  delighted  eyes.  It  was  fifty  feet  long  and 
half  as  wide.  The  hard-wood  floor  was  covered  with 


44      THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

handsome  rugs;  every  piece  of  furniture  was  quaint  or 
interesting.  Carved  in  the  heavy  oak  paneling  above 
the  fireplace,  in  large  Old  English  letters,  was  the  in 
scription  : 


Jtyirtf  of  QJlan  is  f0e  £embfe  of  iQt  fcorb 


and  on  either  side  great  candelabra  sent  long  arms 
across  the  hearth.  All  the  books  seemed  related  to  archi 
tecture;  German  and  French  works  stood  side  by  side 
among  those  by  English  and  American  authorities.  I 
found  archeology  represented  in  a  division  where  all 
the  titles  were  Latin  or  Italian.  I  opened  several  cab 
inets  that  contained  sketches  and  drawings,  all  in  care 
ful  order;  and  in  another  I  found  an  elaborate  card 
catalogue,  evidently  the  work  of  a  practised  hand.  The 
minute  examination  was  too  much  for  me;  I  threw 
myself  into  a  great  chair  that  might  have  been  spoil 
from  a  cathedral,  satisfied  to  enjoy  the  general  effect. 
To  find  an  apartment  so  handsome  and  so  marked  by 
good  taste  in  the  midst  of  an  Indiana  wood,  staggered 
me.  To  be  sure,  in  approaching  the  house  I  had  seen 
only  a  dark  bulk  that  conveyed  no  sense  of  its  char 
acter  or  proportions;  and  certainly  the  entrance  hall 
had  not  prepared  me  for  the  beauty  of  this  room.  I  was 
so  lost  in  contemplation  that  I  did  not  hear  a  door  open 


THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES      45 

behind  me.  The  respectful,  mournful  voice  of  Bates 
announced : 

"There's  a  bite  ready  for  you,  sir." 

I  followed  him  through  the  hall  to  a  small  high- 
wainscoted  room  where  a  table  was  simply  set. 

"This  is  what  Mr.  Glenarm  called  the  refectory.  The 
dining-room,  on  the  other  side  of  the  house,  is  unfin 
ished.  He  took  his  own  meals  here.  The  library  was  the 
main  thing  with  him.  He  never  lived  to  finish  the  house, 
— more's  the  pity,  sir.  He  would  have  made  something 
very  handsome  of  it  if  he'd  had  a  few  years  more.  But 
he  hoped,  sir,  that  you'd  see  it  completed.  It  was  his 
wish,  sir." 

"Yes,  to  be  sure,"  I  replied. 

He  brought  cold  fowl  and  a  salad,  and  produced  a 
bit  of  Stilton  of  unmistakable  authenticity. 

"I  trust  the  ale  is  cooled  to  your  liking.  It's  your 
grandfather's  favorite,  if  I  may  say  it,  sir." 

I  liked  the  fellow's  humility.  He  served  me  with  a 
grave  deference  and  an  accustomed  hand.  Candles  in 
crystal  holders  shed  an  agreeable  light  upon  the  table; 
the  room  was  snug  and  comfortable,  and  hickory  logs 
in  a  small  fireplace  crackled  cheerily.  If  my  grand 
father  had  designed  to  punish  me,  with  loneliness  as 
his  weapon,  his  shade,  if  it  lurked  near,  must  have 
been  grievously  disappointed.  I  had  long  been  inured 


46      THE  HOUSE  OP  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

to  my  own  society.  I  had  often  eaten  my  bread  alone, 
and  I  found  a  pleasure  in  the  quiet  of  the  strange  un 
known  house.  There  stole  over  me,  too,  the  satisfaction 
that  I  was  at  last  obeying  a  wish  of  my  grandfather's, 
that  I  was  doing  something  he  would  have  me  do.  I 
was  touched  by  the  traces  everywhere  of  his  interest 
in  what  was  to  him  the  art  of  arts;  there  was  some 
thing  quite  fine  in  his  devotion  to  it.  The  little  refec 
tory  had  its  air  of  distinction,  though  it  was  without 
decoration.  There  had  been^  we  always  said  in  the 
family,  something  whimsical  or  even  morbid  in  my 
grandsire's  devotion  to  architecture;  but  I  felt  that  it 
had  really  appealed  to  something  dignified  and  noble 
in  his  own  mind  and  character,  and  a  gentler  mood 
than  I  had  known  in  years  possessed  my  heart.  He  had 
asked  little  of  me,  and  I  determined  that  in  that  little 
I  would  not  fail. 

Bates  gave  me  my  coffee,  put  matches  within  reach 
and  left  the  room.  I  drew  out  my  cigarette  case  and 
was  holding  it  half-opened,  when  the  glass  in  the  win 
dow  back  of  me  cracked  sharply,  a  bullet  whistled  over 
my  head,  struck  the  opposite  wall  and  fell,  flattened 
and  marred,  on  the  table  under  my  hand. 


CHAPTER   IV 

A  VOICE  FROM  THE  LAKE 

I  ran  to  the  window  and  peered  out  into  the  night. 
The  wood  through  which  we  had  approached  the  house 
seemed  to  encompass  it.  The  branches  of  a  great  tree 
brushed  the  panes.  I  was  tugging  at  the  fastening  of 
the  window  when  I  became  aware  of  Bates  at  my  elbow. 

"Did  something  happen,  sir?" 

His  unbroken  calm  angered  me.  Some  one  had  fired 
at  me  through  a  window  and  I  had  narrowly  escaped 
being  shot.  I  resented  the  unconcern  with  which  this 
servant  accepted  the  situation. 

"Nothing  worth  mentioning.  Somebody  tried  to  as 
sassinate  me,  that's  all,"  I  said,  in  a  voice  that  failed 
to  be  calmly  ironical.  I  was  still  fumbling  at  the  catch 
of  the  window. 

"Allow  me,  sir," — and  he  threw  up  the  sash  with  an 
ease  that  increased  my  irritation. 

I  leaned  out  and  tried  to  find  some  clue  to  my  as 
sailant.  Bates  opened  another  window  and  surveyed  the 
dark  landscape  with  me. 

47 


48       THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"Ik  was  a  shot  from  without,  was  it,  sir  ?" 

"Of  course  it  was;  you  didn't  suppose  I  shot  at  my 
self,  did  you?" 

He  examined  the  broken  pane  and  picked  up  the  bul 
let  from  the  table. 

"It's  a  rifle-ball,  I  should  say." 

The  bullet  was  half-flattened  by  its  contact  with  the 
wall.  It  was  a  cartridge  ball  of  large  caliber  and  might 
have  been  fired  from  either  rifle  or  pistol. 

"It's  very  unusual,  sir !"  I  wheeled  upon  him  angrily 
and  found  him  fumbling  with  the  bit  of  metal,  a 
troubled  look  in  his  face.  He  at  once  continued,  as 
though  anxious  to  allay  my  fears.  "Quite  accidental, 
most  likely.  Probably  boys  on  the  lake  are  shooting  at 
ducks/' 

I  laughed  out  so  suddenly  that  Bates  started  back  in 
alarm. 

"You  idiot !"  I  roared,  seizing  him  by  the  collar  with 
both  hands  and  shaking  him  fiercely.  "You  fool !  Do  the 
people  around  here  shoot  ducks  at  night?  Do  they 
shoot  water-fowl  with  elephant  guns  and  fire  at  people 
through  windows  just  for  fun  ?" 

I  threw  him  back  against  the  table  so  that  it  leaped 
away  from  him,  and  he  fell  prone  on  the  floor. 

"Get  up !"  I  commanded,  "and  fetch  a  lantern." 

He  said  nothing,  but  did  as  I  bade  him.  We  traversed 


A   VOICE   FEOM   THE   LAKE  49 

the  long  cheerless  hall  to  the  front  door,  and  I  sent  him 
before  me  into  the  woodland.  My  notions  of  the  geog 
raphy  of  the  region  were  the  vaguest,  but  I  wished  to 
examine  for  myself  the  premises  that  evidently  con 
tained  a  dangerous  prowler.  I  was  very  angry  and  my 
rage  increased  as  I  followed  Bates,  who  had  suddenly 
retired  within  himself.  We  stood  soon  beneath  the 
lights  of  the  refectory  window. 

The  ground  was  covered  with  leaves  which  broke 
crisply  under  our  feet. 

"What  lies  beyond  here?"  I  demanded. 

"About  a  quarter  of  mile  of  woods,  sir,  and  then  the 
lake." 

"Go  ahead,"  I  ordered,  "straight  to  the  lake." 

I  was  soon  stumbling  through  rough  underbrush  sim 
ilar  to  that  through  which  we  had  approached  the  house. 
Bates  swung  along  confidently  enough  ahead  of  me, 
pausing  occasionally  to  hold  back  the  branches.  I  began 
to  feel,  as  my  rage  abated,  that  I  had  set  out  on  a  foolish 
undertaking.  I  was  utterly  at  sea  as  to  the  character  of 
the  grounds;  I  was  following  a  man  whom  I  had  not 
seen  until  two  hours  before,  and  whom  I  began  to  sus 
pect  of  all  manner  of  designs  upon  me.  It  was  wholly 
unlikely  that  the  person  who  had  fired  into  the  windows 
would  lurk  about,  and,  moreover,  the  light  of  the  lan 
tern,  the  crack  of  the  leaves  and  the  breaking  of  the 


50   THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

boughs  advertised  our  approach  loudly.  I  am,  however, 
a  person  given  to  steadfastness  in  error,  if  nothing  else, 
and  I  plunged  along  behind  my  guide  with  a  grim  de 
termination  to  reach  the  margin  of  the  lake,  if  for  no 
other  reason  than  to  exercise  my  authority  over  the 
custodian  of  this  strange  estate. 

A  bush  slapped  me  sharply  and  I  stopped  to  rub  the 
sting  from  my  face. 

"Are  you  hurt,  sir?"  asked  Bates  solicitously,  turn 
ing  with  the  lantern. 

"Of  course  not,"  I  snapped.  "I'm  having  the  time 
of  my  life.  Are  there  no  paths  in  this  jungle  ?" 

"Not  through  here,  sir.  It  was  Mr.  Glenarm's  idea 
not  to  disturb  the  wood  at  all.  He  was  very  fond  of 
walking  through  the  timber." 

"Not  at  night,  I  hope !  Where  are  we  now  ?" 

"Quite  near  the  lake,  sir." 

"Then  go  on." 

I  was  out  of  patience  with  Bates,  with  the  pathless 
woodland,  and,  I  must  confess,  with  the  spirit  of  John 
Marshall  Glenarm,  my  grandfather. 

We  came  out  presently  upon  a  gravelly  beach,  and 
Bates  stamped  suddenly  on  planking. 

"This  is  the  Glenarm  dock,  sir;  and  that's  the  boat- 
house." 


A   VOICE   FKOM   THE   LAKE  51 

He  waved  his  lantern  toward  a  low  structure  that  rose 
dark  beside  us.  As  we  stood  silent,  peering  out  into  the 
starlight,  I  heard  distinctly  the  dip  of  a  paddle  and  the 
soft  gliding  motion  of  a  canoe. 

"It's  a  boat,  sir,"  whispered  Bates,  hiding  the  lantern 
under  his  coat. 

I  brushed  past  him  and  crept  to  the  end  of  the  dock. 
The  paddle  dipped  on  silently  and  evenly  in  the  still 
water,  but  the  sound  grew  fainter.  A  canoe  is  the  most 
graceful,  the  most  sensitive,  the  most  inexplicable  con 
trivance  of  man.  With  its  paddle  you  may  dip  up  stars 
along  quiet  shores  or  steal  into  the  very  harbor  of 
dreams.  I  knew  that  furtive  splash  instantly,  and  knew 
that  a  trained  hand  wielded  the  paddle.  My  boyhood 
summers  in  the  Maine  woods  were  not,  I  frequently 
find,  wholly  wasted. 

The  owner  of  the  canoe  had  evidently  stolen  close  to 
the  Glenarm  dock,  and  had  made  off  when  alarmed  by 
the  noise  of  our  approach  through  the  wood. 

"Have  you  a  boat  here  ?" 

"The  boat-house  is  locked  and  I  haven't  the  key  with 
me,  sir,"  he  replied  without  excitement. 

"Of  course  you  haven't  it,"  I  snapped,  full  of  anger 
at  his  tone  of  irreproachable  respect,  and  at  my  own 
helplessness.  I  had  not  even  seen  th,e  place  by  daylight, 


52      THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CAXDLES 

and  the  woodland  behind  me  and  the  lake  at  my  feet 
\vere  things  of  shadow  and  mystery.  In  my  rage  I 
stamped  my  foot. 

"Lead  the  way  back/'  I  roared. 

I  had  turned  toward  the  woodland  when  suddenly 
there  stole  across  the  water  a  voice, — a  woman's  voice, 
deep,  musical  and  deliberate. 

"Eeally,  I  shouldn't  be  so  angry  if  I  were  you!"  it 
said,  with  a  lingering  note  on  the  word  angry. 

"Who  are  you  ?  What  are  you  doing  there  ?"  I  bawled. 

"Just  enjoying  a  little  tranquil  thought !"  was  the 
drawling,  mocking  reply. 

Far  out  upon  the  water  I  heard  the  dip  and  glide  of 
the  canoe,  and  saw  faintly  its  outline  for  a  moment; 
then  it  was  gone.  The  lake,  the  surrounding  wood,  were 
an  unknown  world, — the  canoe,  a  boat  of  dreams.  Then 
again  came  the  voice : 

"Good  night,  merry  gentlemen!" 

"It  was  a  lady,  sir,"  remarked  Bates,  after  we  had 
waited  silently  for  a  full  minute. 

"How  clever  you  are!"  I  sneered.  "I  suppose  ladies 
prowl  about  here  at  night,  shooting  ducks  or  into  peo 
ple's  houses." 

"It  would  seem  quite  likely,  sir." 

I  should  have  liked  to  cast  him  into  the  lake,  but  he 
was  already  moving  away,  the  lantern  swinging  at  his 


A   VOICE    FROM   THE   LAKE  53 

side.  I  followed  him,  back  through  the  woodland  to  the 
house. 

My  spirits  quickly  responded  to  the  cheering  in 
fluence  of  the  great  library.  I  stirred  the  fire  on  the 
hearth  into  life  and  sat  down  before  it,  tired  from  my 
tramp.  I  was  mystified  and  perplexed  by  the  incident 
that  had  already  marked  my  coming.  It  was  possible, 
to  be  sure,  that  the  bullet  which  narrowly  missed  my 
head  in  the  little  dining-room  had  been  a  wild  shot  that 
carried  no  evil  intent,  I  dismissed  at  once  the  idea  that 
it  might  have  been  fired  from  the  lake;  it  had  crashed 
through  the  glass  with  too  much  force  to  have  come  so 
far;  and,  moreover,  I  could  hardly  imagine  even  a  rifle- 
ball's  finding  an  unimpeded  right  of  way  through  so 
dense  a  strip  of  wood.  I  found  it  difficult  to  get  rid  of 
the  idea  that  some  one  had  taken  a  pot-shot  at  me. 

The  woman's  mocking  voice  from  the  lake  added  to 
my  perplexity.  It  was  not,  I  reflected,  such  a  voice  as 
one  might  expect  to  hear  from  a  country  girl ;  nor  could 
I  imagine  any  errand  that  would  excuse  a  woman's 
presence  abroad  on  an  October  night  whose  cool  air  in 
spired  first  confidences  with  fire  and  lamp.  There  was 
something  haunting  in  that  last  cry  across  the  water; 
it  kept  repeating  itself  over  and  over  in  my  ears.  It 
was  a  voice  of  quality,  of  breeding  and  charm. 

"Good  night,  merry  gentlemen !" 


54   THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

In  Indiana,  I  reflected,  rustics,  young  or  old,  men  or 
women,  were  probably  not  greatly  given  to  salutations 
of  just  this  temper. 

Bates  now  appeared. 

"Beg  pardon,  sir;  but  your  room's  ready  whenever 
you  wish  to  retire." 

I  looked  about  in  search  of  a  clock. 

"There  are  no  timepieces  in  the  house,  Mr.  Glenarm. 
Your  grandfather  was  quite  opposed  to  them.  He  had 
a  theory,  sir,  that  they  were  conducive,  as  he  said,  to 
idleness.  He  considered  that  a  man  should  work  by  his 
conscience,  sir,  and  not  by  the  clock, — the  one  being 
more  exacting  than  the  other/' 

I  smiled  as  I  drew  out  my  watch, — as  much  at  Bates' 
solemn  tones  and  grim  lean  visage  as  at  his  quotation 
from  my  grandsire.  But  the  fellow  puzzled  and  an- 
no}*ed  me.  His  unobtrusive  black  clothes,  his  smoothly- 
brushed  hair,  his  shaven  face,  awakened  an  antagonism 
in  me. 

"Bates,  if  you  didn't  fire  that  shot  through  the  win 
dow,  who  did — will  you  answer  me  that?" 

"Yes,  sir ;  if  I  didn't  do  it,  it's  quite  a  large  question 
who  did.  I'll  grant  you  that,  sir." 

I  stared  at  him.  He  met  my  gaze  directly  without 
flinching;  nor  was  there  anything  insolent  in  his  tone 
or  attitude.  He  continued: 


A   VOICE    FEOM   THE   LAKE  55 

"I  didn't  do  it,  sir.  I  was  in  the  pantry  when  I  heard 
the  crash  in  the  refectory  window.  The  bullet  came 
from  out  of  doors,  as  I  should  judge,  sir." 

The  facts  and  conclusions  were  undoubtedly  with 
Bates,  and  I  felt  that  I  had  not  acquitted  myself  credit 
ably  in  my  effort  to  fix  the  crime  on  him.  My  abuse  of 
him  had  been  tactless,  to  say  the  least,  and  I  now  tried 
another  line  of  attack. 

"Of  course,  Bates,  I  was  merely  joking.  What's  your 
own  theory  of  the  matter  ?" 

"I  have  no  theory,  sir.  Mr.  Glenarm  always  warned 
me  against  theories.  He  said — if  you  will  pardon  me — 
there  was  great  danger  in  the  speculative  mind." 

The  man  spoke  with  a  slight  Irish  accent,  which  in 
itself  puzzled  me.  I  have  always  been  attentive  to  the 
peculiarities  of  speech,  and  his  was  not  the  brogue  of 
the  Irish  servant  class.  Larry  Donovan,  who  was  Eng 
lish-born,  used  on  occasions  an  exaggerated  Irish  dialect 
that  was  wholly  different  from  the  smooth  liquid  tones  of 
Bates.  But  more  things  than  his  speech  were  to  puzzle 
me  in  this  man. 

"The  person  in  the  canoe?  How  do  you  account  for 
her?"  I  asked. 

"I  haven't  accounted  for  her,  sir.  There's  no  women 
on  these  grounds,  or  any  sort  of  person  except  our 
selves." 


5G      THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"But  there  are  neighbors, — farmers,  people  of  some 
kind  must  live  along  the  lake." 

"A  few,  sir;  and  then  there's  the  school  quite  a  bit 
beyond  your  own  west  wall." 

His  slight  reference  to  my  proprietorship,  my  own 
wall,  as  he  put  it,  pleased  me. 

'•'Oh,  yes;  there  is  a  school — girls? — yes;  Mr.  Pick 
ering  mentioned  it.  But  the  girls  hardly  paddle  on  the 
lake  at  night,  at  this  season — hunting  ducks — should 
you  say,  Bates  ?" 

"I  don't  believe  they  do  any  shooting,  Mr.  Glenarm. 
It's  a  pretty  strict  school,  I  judge,  sir,  from  all  ac 
counts." 

"And  the  teachers — they  are  all  women?" 

"They're  the  Sisters  of  St.  Agatha,  I  believe  they  call 
them.  I  sometimes  see  them  walking  abroad.  They're 
very  quiet  neighbors,  and  they  go  away  in  the  summer 
usually,  except  Sister  Theresa.  The  school's  her  regular 
home,  sir.  And  there's  the  little  chapel  quite  near  the 
wall ;  the  young  minister  lives  there ;  and  the  gardener's 
the  only  other  man  on  the  grounds." 

So  my  immediate  neighbors  were  Protestant  nuns 
and  school-girls,  with  a  chaplain  and  gardener  thrown 
in  for  variety.  Still,  the  chaplain  might  be  a  social  re 
source.  There  was  nothing  in  the  terms  of  my  grand 
father's  will  to  prevent  my  cultivating  the  acquaintance 


A   VOICE    FKOM   THE   LAKE  57 

of  a  clergyman.  It  even  occurred  to  me  that  this  might 
be  a  part  of  the  game :  my  soul  was  to  be  watched  over 
by  a  rural  priest,  while,  there  being  nothing  else  to  do, 
I  was  to  give  my  attention  to  the  study  of  architecture. 
Bates,  my  guard  and  housekeeper,  was  brushing  the 
hearth  with  deliberate  care. 

"Show  me  my  cell/'  I  said,  rising,  "and  I'll  go  to 
bed." 

He  brought  from  somewhere  a  great  brass  cande 
labrum  that  held  a  dozen  lights,  and  explained: 

"This  was  Mr.  Glenarm's  habit.  He  always  used  this 
one  to  go  to  bed  with.  I'm  sure  he'd  wish  you  to  have 
it,  sir." 

I  thought  I  detected  something  like  a  quaver  in  the 
man's  voice.  My  grandfather's  memory  was  dear  to  him, 
I  reflected,  and  I  was  moved  to  compassion  for  him. 

"How  long  were  you  with  Mr.  Glenarm,  Bates?"  I 
inquired,  as  I  followed  him  into  the  hall. 

"Five  years,  sir.  He  employed  me  the  year  you  went 
abroad.  I  remember  very  well  his  speaking  of  it.  He 
greatly  admired  you,  sir." 

He  led  the  way,  holding  the  cluster  of  lights  high  for 
my  guidance  up  the  broad  stairway. 

The  hall  above  shared  the  generous  lines  of  the  whole 
house,  but  the  walls  were  white  and  hard  to  the  eye. 
Bough  planks  had  been  laid  down  for  a  floor,  and  be- 


58      THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CAXDLES 

yond  the  light  of  the  candles  lay  a  dark  region  that  gave 
out  ghostly  echoes  as  the  loose  boards  rattled  under  our 
feet. 

"I  hope  you'll  not  be  too  much  disappointed,  sir," 
said  Bates,  pausing  a  moment  before  opening  a  door. 
"It's  all  quite  unfinished,  but  comfortable,  I  should  say, 
quite  comfortable." 

"Open  the  door!" 

He  was  not  my  host  and  I  did  not  relish  his  apology. 
I  walked  past  him  into  a  small  sitting-room  that  was, 
in  a  way,  a  miniature  of  the  great  library  below.  Open 
shelves  filled  with  books  lined  the  apartment  to  the 
ceiling  on  every  hand,  save  where  a  small  fireplace,  a 
cabinet  and  table  were  built  into  the  walls.  In  the 
center  of  the  room  was  a  long  table  with  writing  ma 
terials  set  in  nice  order.  I  opened  a  handsome  case  and 
found  that  it  contained  a  set  of  draftsman's  instru 
ments. 

I  groaned  aloud. 

"Mr.  Glenarm  preferred  this  room  for  working.  The 
tools  were  his  very  own,  sir." 

"The  devil  they  were!"  I  exclaimed  irascibly.  I 
snatched  a  book  from  the  nearest  shelf  and  threw  it 
open  on  the  table.  It  was  The  Tower:  Its  Early  Use 
for  Purposes  of  Defense.  London:  1816. 


A   VOICE   FKOM   THE   LAKE  59 

I  closed  it  with  a  slam. 

"The  sleeping-room  is  beyond,  sir.   I  hope — " 

"Don't  you  hope  any  more!"  I  growled;  "and  it 
doesn't  make  any  difference  whether  I'm  disappointed 
or  not." 

"Certainly  not,  sir!"  he  replied  in  a  tone  that  made 
me  ashamed  of  myself. 

The  adjoining  bedroom  was  small  and  meagerly  fur 
nished.  The  walls  were  untinted  and  were  relieved  only 
by  prints  of  English  cathedrals,  French  chateaux,  and 
like  suggestions  of  the  best  things  known  to  archi 
tecture.  The  bed  was  the  commonest  iron  type ;  and  the 
other  articles  of  furniture  were  chosen  with  a  strict  re 
gard  for  utility.  My  trunks  and  bags  had  been  carried 
in,  and  Bates  asked  from  the  door  for  my  commands. 

"Mr.  Glenarm  always  breakfasted  at  seven-thirty,  sir, 
as  near  as  he  could  hit  it  without  a  timepiece,  and  he 
was  quite  punctual.  His  ways  were  a  little  odd,  sir.  He 
used  to  prowl  about  at  night  a  good  deal,  and  there  was 
no  following  him." 

"I  fancy  I  shan't  do  much  prowling,"  I  declared. 
"And  my  grandfather's  breakfast  hour  will  suit  me  ex 
actly,  Bates." 

"If  there's  nothing  further,  sir — " 

"Thaf  s  all ;— and  Bates—" 


60       THE  HOUSE  OP  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"Yes,  Mr.  Glenarm." 

"Of  course  you  understand  that  I  didn't  really  mean 
to  imply  that  you  had  fired  that  shot  at  me?" 

"I  beg  you  not  to  mention  it,  Mr.  Glenarm." 

"But  it  was  a  little  queer.  If  you  should  gain  any 
light  on  the  subject,  let  me  know." 

"Certainly,  sir." 

"But  I  believe,  Bates,  that  we'd  better  keep  the  shades 
down  at  night.  These  duck  hunters  hereabouts  are  ap 
parently  reckless.  And  you  might  attend  to  these  now, 
— and  every  evening  hereafter." 

I  wound  my  watch  as  he  obeyed.  I  admit  that  in  my 
heart  I  still  half-suspected  the  fellow  of  complicity  with 
the  person  who  had  fired  at  me  through  the  dining-room 
window.  It  was  rather  odd,  I  reflected,  that  the  shades 
should  have  been  open,  though  I  might  account  for  this 
by  the  fact  that  this  curious  unfinished  establishment 
was  not  subject  to  the  usual  laws  governing  orderly 
housekeeping.  Bates  was  evidently  aware  of  my  sus 
picions,  and  he  remarked,  drawing  down  the  last  of  the 
plain  green  shades: 

"Mr.  Glenarm  never  drew  them,  sir.  It  was  a  saying 
of  his,  if  I  may  repeat  his  words,  that  he  liked  the  open. 
These  are  eastern  windows,  and  he  took  a  quiet  pleasure 
in  letting  the  light  waken  him.  It  was  one  of  his  odd 
ities,  sir." 


A   VOICE    FROM   THE   LAKE  61 

"To  be  sure.  That's  all,  Bates." 

He  gravely  bade  me  good  night,  and  I  followed  him 
to  the  outer  door  and  watched  his  departing  figure, 
lighted  by  a  single  candle  that  he  had  produced  from 
his  pocket. 

I  stood  for  several  minutes  listening  to  his  step,  trac 
ing  it  through  the  hall  below — as  far  as  my  knowledge 
of  the  house  would  permit.  Then,  in  unknown  regions, 
I  could  hear  the  closing  of  doors  and  drawing  of  bolts. 
Verily,  my  jailer  was  a  person  of  painstaking  habits. 

I  opened  my  traveling-case  and  distributed  its  con 
tents  on  the  dressing-table.  I  had  carried  through  all 
my  adventures  a  folding  leather  photograph-holder,  con 
taining  portraits  of  my  father  and  mother  and  of  John 
Marshall  Glenarm,  my  grandfather,  and  this  I  set  up 
on  the  mantel  in  the  little  sitting-room.  I  felt  to-night 
as  never  before  how  alone  I  was  in  the  world,  and  a 
need  for  companionship  and  sympathy  stirred  in  me. 
It  was  with  a  new  and  curious  interest  that  I  peered 
into  my  grandfather's  shrewd  old  eyes.  He  used  to  come 
and  go  fitfully  at  my  father's  house;  but  my  father  had 
displeased  him  in  various  ways  that  I  need  not  recite, 
and  my  father's  death  had  left  me  with  an  estrangement 
which  I  had  widened  by  my  own  acts. 

Now  that  I  had  reached  Glenarm,  my  mind  reverted 
to  Pickering's  estimate  of  the  value  of  my  grandfather's 


62   THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

estate.  Although  John  Marshall  Glenarm  was  an  ec 
centric  man,  he  had  been  ahle  to  accumulate  a  large  for 
tune  ;  and  yet  I  had  allowed  the  executor  to  tell  me  that 
he  had  died  comparatively  poor.  In  so  readily  accepting 
the  terms  of  the  will  and  burying  myself  in  a  region  of 
which  I  knew  nothing,  I  had  cut  myself  off  from  the 
usual  channels  of  counsel.  If  I  left  the  place. to  return 
to  New  York  I  should  simply  disinherit  myself.  At 
Glenarm  I  was,  and  there  I  must  remain  to  the  end  of 
the  year;  I  grew  bitter  against  Pickering  as  I  reflected 
upon  the  ease  with  which  he  had  got  rid  of  me.  I  had 
always  satisfied  myself  that  my  wits  were  as  keen  as  his, 
but  I  wondered  now  whether  I  had  not  stupidly  put  my 
self  in  his  power. 


CHAPTER   V 
A  RED  TAM-O'-SHANTER 

I  looked  out  on  the  bright  October  morning  with  a 
renewed  sense  of  isolation.  Trees  crowded  about  my 
windows,  many  of  them  still  wearing  their  festal  colors, 
scarlet  and  brown  and  gold,  with  the  bright  green  of 
some  sulking  companion  standing  out  here  and  there 
with  startling  vividness.  I  put  on  an  old  corduroy  out 
ing  suit  and  heavy  shoes,  ready  for  a  tramp  abroad,  and 
went  below. 

The  great  library  seemed  larger  than  ever  when  I  be 
held  it  in  the  morning  light.  I  opened  one  of  the 
French  windows  and  stepped  out  on  a  stone  terrace, 
where  I  gained  a  fair  view  of  the  exterior  of  the  house, 
which  proved  to  be  a  modified  Tudor,  with  battlements 
and  two  towers.  One  of  the  latter  was  only  half -finished, 
and  to  it  and  to  other  parts  of  the  house  the  workmen's 
scaffolding  still  clung.  Heaps  of  stone  and  piles  of  lum 
ber  were  scattered  about  in  great  disorder.  The  house 
extended  partly  along  the  edge  of  a  ravine,  through 
which  a  slender  creek  ran  toward  the  lake.  The  terrace 
became  a  broad  balcony  immediately  outside  the  library, 

63 


64   THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

and  beneath  it  the  water  bubbled  pleasantly  around 
heavy  stone  pillars.  Two  pretty  rustic  bridges  spanned 
the  ravine,  one  near  the  front  entrance,  the  other  at  the 
rear.  My  grandfather  had  begun  his  house  on  a  generous 
plan,  but,  buried  as  it  was  among  the  trees,  it  suffered 
from  lack  of  perspective.  However,  on  one  side  toward 
the  lake  was  a  fair  meadow,  broken  by  a  water-tower, 
and  just  beyond  the  west  dividing  wall  I  saw  a  little 
chapel ;  and  still  f arther,  in  the  same  direction,  the  out 
lines  of  the  buildings  of  St.  Agatha's  were  vaguely  per 
ceptible  in  another  strip  of  woodland. 

The  thought  of  gentle  nuns  and  school-girls  as  neigh 
bors  amused  me.  All  I  asked  was  that  they  should  keep 
to  their  own  side  of  the  wall. 

I  heard  behind  me  the  careful  step  of  Bates. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Glenarm.  I  trust  you  rested 
quite  well,  sir." 

His  figure  was  as  austere,  his  tone  as  respectful  and 
colorless  as  by  night.  The  morning  light  gave  him  a 
pallid  cast.  He  suffered  my  examination  coolly  enough; 
his  eyes  were,  indeed,  the  best  thing  about  him. 

"This  is  what  Mr.  Glenarm  called  the  platform.  I 
believe  it's  in  Hamlet,  sir." 

I  laughed  aloud.  "Elsinore:  A  Platform  Before  the 
Castle." 


A    EED    TAM-O'-SHANTER  65 

"It  was  one  of  Mr.  Glenarm's  little  fancies,  you  might 
call  it,  sir." 

"And  the  ghost, — where  does  the  murdered  majesty  of 
Denmark  lie  by  day?" 

"I  fear  it  wasn't  provided,  sir !  As  you  see,  Mr.  Glen- 
arm,  the  house  is  quite  incomplete.  My  late  master  had 
not  carried  out  all  his  plans." 

Bates  did  not  smile.  I  fancied  he  never  smiled,  and 
I  wondered  whether  John  Marshall  Glenarm  had  played 
upon  the  man's  lack  of  humor.  My  grandfather  had 
been  possessed  of  a  certain  grim,  ironical  gift  at  jesting, 
and  quite  likely  he  had  amused  himself  by  experiment 
ing  upon  his  serving  man. 

"You  may  breakfast  when  you  like,  sir," — and  thus 
admonished  I  went  into  the  refectory. 

A  newspaper  lay  at  my  plate;  it  was  the  morning's 
issue  of  a  Chicago  daily.  I  was,  then,  not  wholly  out  of 
the  world,  I  reflected,  scanning  the  head-lines. 

"Your  grandfather  rarely  examined  the  paper.  Mr. 
Glenarm  was  more  particularly  interested  in  the  old 
times.  He  wasn't  what  you  might  call  up  to  date, — if 
you  will  pardon  the  expression,  sir." 

"You  are  quite  right  about  that,  Bates.  He  was  a 
medievalist  in  his  sympathies." 

"Thank  you  for  that  word,  sir ;  I've  frequently  heard 


G6      THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

him  apply  it  to  himself.  The  plain  omelette  was  a  great 
favorite  with  your  grandfather.  I  hope  it  is  to  your  lik 
ing,  sir." 

"It's  excellent,  Bates.  And  your  coffee  is  beyond 
praise." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Glenarm.  One  does  what  one  can, 
sir." 

He  had  placed  me  so  that  I  faced  the  windows,  an 
attention  to  my  comfort  and  safety  which  I  appreciated. 
The  broken  pane  told  the  tale  of  the  shot  that  had  so 
narrowly  missed  me  the  night  before. 

"Fll  repair  that  to-day,  sir,"  Bates  remarked,  seeing 
my  eyes  upon  the  window. 

"You  know  that  I'm  to  spend  a  year  on  this  place; 
I  assume  that  you  understand  the  circumstances,"  I 
said,  feeling  it  wise  that  we  should  understand  each 
other. 

"Quite  so,  Mr.  Glenarm." 

"I'm  a  student,  you  know,  and  all  I  want  is  to  be  left 
alone." 

This  I  threw  in  to  reassure  myself  rather  than  for 
his  information.  It  was  just  as  well,  I  reflected,  to  as 
sert  a  little  authority,  even  though  the  fellow  undoubt 
edly  represented  Pickering  and  received  orders  from 
him. 

"In  a  day  or  two,  or  as  soon  as  I  have  got  used  to  the 


A   RED   TAM-O'-SHANTER  67 

place,  I  shall  settle  down  to  work  in  the  library.  You 
may  give  me  breakfast  at  seven-thirty ;  luncheon  at  one- 
thirty  and  dinner  at  seven/' 

"Those  were  my  late  master's  hours,  sir." 

"Very  good.  And  I'll  eat  anything  you  please,  ex 
cept  mutton  broth,  meat  pie  and  canned  strawberries. 
Strawberries  in  tins,  Bates,  are  not  well  calculated  to 
lift  the  spirit  of  man." 

"I  quite  agree  with  you,  sir,  if  you  will  pardon  my 
opinion." 

"And  the  bills—" 

''They  are  provided  for  by  Mr.  Pickering.  He  sends 
me  an  allowance  for  the  household  expenses." 

"So  you  are  to  report  to  him,  are  you,  as  heretofore?" 

I  blew  out  a  match  with  which  I  had  lighted  a  cigar 
and  watched  the  smoking  end  intently. 

"I  believe  that's  the  idea,  sir." 

It  is  not  pleasant  to  be  under  compulsion, — to  feel 
your  freedom  curtailed,  to  be  conscious  of  espionage.  I 
rose  without  a  word  and  went  into  the  hall. 

"You  may  like  to  have  the  keys,"  said  Bates,  follow 
ing  me.  "There's  two  for  the  gates  in  the  outer  wall 
and  one  for  the  St.  Agatha's  gate;  they're  marked,  as 
you  see.  And  here's  the  hall-door  key  and  the  boat- 
house  key  that  you  asked  for  last  night." 

After  an  hour  spent  in  unpacking  I  went  out  into  the 


68       THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

grounds.  I  had  thought  it  well  to  wire  Pickering  of 
my  arrival,  and  I  set  out  for  Annandale  to  send  him  a 
telegram.  My  spirit  lightened  under  the  influences  of 
the  crisp  air  and  cheering  sunshine.  What  had  seemed 
strange  and  shadowy  at  night  was  clear  enough  by 
day. 

I  found  the  gate  through  which  we  had  entered  the 
grounds  the  night  before  without  difficulty.  The  stone 
wall  was  assuredly  no  flimsy  thing.  It  was  built  in  a 
thoroughly  workmanlike  manner,  and  I  mentally  com 
puted  its  probable  cost  with  amazement.  There  were, 
I  reflected,  much  more  satisfactory  ways  of  spending 
money  than  in  building  walls  around  Indiana  forests. 
But  the  place  was  mine,  or  as  good  as  mine,  and  there 
was  no  manner  of  use  in  quarreling  with  the  whims  of 
my  dead  grandfather.  At  the  expiration  of  a  year  I 
could  tear  down  the  wall  if  I  pleased ;  and  as  to  the  in 
complete  house,  that  I  should  sell  or  remodel  to  my 
liking. 

On  the  whole,  I  settled  into  an  amiable  state  of  mind ; 
my  perplexity  over  the  shot  of  the  night  before  was  pass 
ing  away  under  the  benign  influences  of  blue  sky  and 
warm  sunshine.  A  few  farm-folk  passed  me  in  the 
highway  and  gave  me  good  morning  in  the  fashion  of 
the  country,  inspecting  my  knickerbockers  at  the  same 


A    EED    TAM-O'-SHANTER  69 

time  with  frank  disapproval.    I  reached  the  lake  and 
gazed  out  upon  its  quiet  waters  with  satisfaction.    At 
the  foot  of  Annandale's  main  street  was  a  dock  where 
several  small  steam-craft  and  a  number  of  catboats  were 
being  dismantled  for  the  winter.    As  I  passed,  a  man 
approached  the  dock  in  a  skiff,  landed  and  tied  his  boat. 
He  started  toward  the  village  at  a  quick  pace,  but  turned 
and  eyed  me  with  rustic  directness. 
"Good  morning!"  I  said.    "Any  ducks  about?" 
He  paused,  nodded  and  fell  into  step  with  me. 
"No, — not  enough  to  pay  for  the  trouble." 
"I'm  sorry  for  that.  I'd  hoped  to  pick  up  a  few." 
"I  guess  you're  a  stranger  in  these  parts,"  he  re 
marked,  eying  me  again, — my  knickerbockers  no  doubt 
marking  me  as  an  alien. 

"Quite  so.  My  name  is  Glenarm,  and  I've  just  come." 
"I  thought  you  might  be  him.   We've  rather  been  ex 
pecting  you  here  in  the  village.  I'm  John  Morgan,  care 
taker  of  the  resorters'  houses  up  the  lake." 

"I  suppose  you  all  knew  my  grandfather  hereabouts." 
"Well,  yes;  you  might  say  as  we  did,  or  you  might 
say  as  we  didn't.  He  wasn't  just  the  sort  that  you  got 
next  to  in  a  hurry.  He  kept  pretty  much  to  himself. 
He  built  a  wall  there  to  keep  us  out,  but  he  needn't  have 
troubled  himself.  We're  not  the  kind  around  here  to 


meddle,  and  you  may  be  sure  .the  summer  people  never 
bothered  him." 

There  was  a  tone  of  resentment  in  his  voice,  and  I 
hastened  to  say: 

"I'm  sure  you're  mistaken  about  the  purposes  of  that 
wall.  My  grandfather  was  a  student  of  architecture.  It 
was  a  hobby  of  his.  The  house  and  wall  were  in  the  line 
of  his  experiments,  and  to  please  his  whims.  I  hope  the 
people  of  the  village  won't  hold  any  hard  feelings 
against  his  memory  or  against  me.  Why,  the  labor  there 
must  have  been  a  good  thing  for  the  people  hereabouts." 

"It  ought  to  have  been,"  said  the  man  gruffly;  "but 
that's  where  the  trouble  comes  in.  He  brought  a  lot  of 
queer  fellows  here  under  contract  to  work  for  him, — 
Italians,  or  Greeks,  or  some  sort  of  foreigners.  They 
built  the  wall,  and  he  had  them  at  work  inside  for  half 
a  year.  He  didn't  even  let  them  out  for  air ;  and  when 
they  finished  his  job  he  loaded  'em  on  to  a  train  one 
day  and  hauled  'em  away." 

"That  was  quite  like  him,  I'm  sure,"  I  said,  remem 
bering  with  amusement  my  grandfather's  secretive 
ways. 

"I  guess  he  was  a  crank  all  right,"  said  the  man  con 
clusively. 

It  was  evident  that  he  did  not  care  to  establish  friend 
ly  relations  with  the  resident  of  Glenarm.  He  was  about 


A   EED   TAM-O'-SHANTER  71 

forty,  light,  with  a  yellow  beard  and  pale  blue  eyes.  He 
was  dressed  roughly  and  wore  a  shabby  soft  hat. 

"Well,  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  assume  responsibility 
for  him  and  his  acts,"  I  remarked,  piqued  by  the  fel 
low's  surliness. 

We  had  reached  the  center  of  the  village,  and  he  left 
me  abruptly,  crossing  the  street  to  one  of  the  shops.  I 
continued  on  to  the  railway  station,  where  I  wrote  and 
paid  for  my  message.  The  station-master  inspected  me 
carefully  as  I  searched  my  pockets  for  change. 

"You  want  your  telegrams  delivered  at  the  house?" 
he  asked. 

"Yes,  please,"  I  answered,  and  he  turned  away  to 
his  desk  of  clicking  instruments  without  looking  at  me 
again. 

It  seemed  wise  to  establish  relations  with  the  post- 
office,  so  I  made  myself  known  to  the  girl  who  stood  at 
the  delivery  window. 

"You  already  have  a  box,"  she  advised  me.  "There's 
a  boy  carries  the  mail  to  your  house;  Mr.  Bates  hires 
him." 

Bates  had  himself  given  me  this  information,  but  the 
girl  seemed  to  find  pleasure  in  imparting  it  with  a  cer 
tain  severity.  I  then  bought  a  cake  of  soap  at  the  prin 
cipal  drug  store  and  purchased  a  package  of  smoking- 
tobacco,  which  I  did  not  need,  at  a  grocery. 


72      THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

News  of  my  arrival  had  evidently  reached  the  vil 
lagers  ;  I  was  conceited  enough  to  imagine  that  my  pres 
ence  was  probably  of  interest  to  them;  but  the  station- 
master,  the  girl  at  the  post-office  and  the  clerks  in  the 
shops  treated  me  with  an  unmistakable  cold  reserve. 
There  was  a  certain  evenness  of  the  chill  which  they 
visited  upon  me,  as  though  a  particular  degree  of  frigid 
ity  had  been  determined  in  advance. 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders  and  turned  toward  Glen- 
arm.  My  grandfather  had  left  me  a  cheerful  legacy  of 
distrust  among  my  neighbors,  the  result,  probably,  of 
importing  foreign  labor  to  work  on  his  house.  The  surly 
Morgan  had  intimated  as  much;  but  it  did  not  greatly 
matter.  I  had  not  come  to  Glenarm  to  cultivate  the 
rustics,  but  to  fulfil  certain  obligations  laid  down  in 
my  grandfather's  will.  I  was,  so  to  speak,  on  duty,  and 
I  much  preferred  that  the  villagers  should  let  me  alone. 
Comforting  myself  with  these  reflections  I  reached  the 
wharf,  where  I  saw  Morgan  sitting  with  his  feet  dan 
gling  over  the  water,  smoking  a  pipe. 

I  nodded  in  his  direction,  but  he  feigned  not  to  see 
me.  A  moment  later  he  jumped  into  his  boat  and  rowed 
out  into  the  lake. 

When  I  returned  to  the  house  Bates  was  at  work  in 
the  kitchen.  This  was  a  large  square  room  with  heavy 
timbers  showing  in  the  walls  and  low  ceiling.  There 


A   EED    TAM-O'-SHANTER  73 

was  a  great  fireplace  having  an  enormous  chimney  and 
fitted  with  a  crane  and  bobs,  but  for  practical  purposes 
a  small  range  was  provided. 

Bates  received  me  placidly. 

"Yes;  it's  an  unusual  kitchen,  sir.  Mr.  Glenarm 
copied  it  from  an  old  kitchen  in  England.  He  took 
quite  a  pride  in  it.  It's  a  pleasant  place  to  sit  in  the 
evening,  sir." 

He  showed  me  the  way  below,  where  I  found  that  the 
cellar  extended  under  every  part  of  the  house,  and  was 
divided  into  large  chambers.  The  door  of  one  of  them 
was  of  heavy  oak,  bound  in  iron,  with  a  barred  opening 
at  the  top.  A  great  iron  hasp  with  a  heavy  padlock  and 
grilled  area  windows  gave  further  the  impression  of  a 
cell,  and  I  fear  that  at  this,  as  at  many  other  things  in 
the  curious  house,  I  swore — if  I  did  not  laugh — think 
ing  of  the  money  my  grandfather  had  expended  in  real 
izing  his  whims.  The  room  was  used,  I  noted  with  pleas 
ure,  as  a  depository  for  potatoes.  I  asked  Bates  whether 
he  knew  my  grandfather's  purpose  in  providing  a  cell  in 
his  house. 

"That,  sir,  was  another  of  the  dead  master's  ideas. 
He  remarked  to  me  once  that  it  was  just  as  well  to  have 
a  dungeon  in  a  well-appointed  house, — his  humor  again, 
sir !  And  it  comes  in  quite  handy  for  the  potatoes." 

In  another  room  I  found  a  curious  collection  of  Ian- 


74      THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

terns  of  every  conceivable  description,  grouped  on 
shelves,  and  next  door  to  this  was  a  store-room  filled 
with  brass  candlesticks  of  many  odd  designs.  I  shall  not 
undertake  to  describe  my  sensations  as,  peering  about 
with  a  candle  in  my  hand,  the  vagaries  of  John  Marshall 
Glenarm's  mind  were  further  disclosed  to  me.  It  was 
almost  beyond  belief  that  any  man  with  such  whims 
should  ever  have  had  the  money  to  gratify  them. 

I  returned  to  the  main  floor  and  studied  the  titles  of 
the  books  in  the  library,  finally  smoking  a  pipe  over  a 
very  tedious  chapter  in  an  exceedingly  dull  work  on 
Norman  Revivals  and  Influences.  Then  I  went  out,  as 
suring  myself  that  I  should  get  steadily  to  work  in  a  day 
or  two.  It  was  not  yet  eleven  o'clock,  and  time  was  sure 
to  move  deliberately  within  the  stone  walls  of  my 
prison.  The  long  winter  lay  before  me  in  which  I  must 
study  perforce,  and  just  now  it  was  pleasant  to  view  the 
landscape  in  all  its  autumn  splendor. 

Bates  was  soberly  chopping  wood  at  a  rough  pile  of 
timber  at  the  rear  of  the  house.  His  industry  had  al 
ready  impressed  me.  He  had  the  quiet  ways  of  an  ideal 
serving  man. 

"Well,  Bates,  you  don't  intend  to  let  me  freeze  to 
death,  do  you  ?  There  must  be  enough  in  the  pile  there 
to  last  all  winter." 

"Yes,  sir ;  I  am  just  cutting  a  little  more  of  the  hick- 


A   EED   TAM-O'-SHANTER  75 

ory,  sir.  Mr.  Glenarm  always  preferred  it  to  beech  or 
maple.  We  only  take  out  the  old  timber.  The  summer 
storms  eat  into  the  wood  pretty  bad,  sir." 

"Oh,  hickory,  to  be  sure !  I've  heard  it's  the  best  fire 
wood.  That's  very  thoughtful  of  .you." 

I  turned  next  to  the  unfinished  tower  in  the  meadow, 
from  which  a  windmill  pumped  water  to  the  house.  The 
iron  frame  was  not  wholly  covered  with  stone,  but  ma 
terial  for  the  remainder  of  the  work  lay  scattered  at  the 
base.  I  went  on  through  the  wood  to  the  lake  and  in 
spected  the  boat-house.  It  was  far  more  pretentious 
than  I  had  imagined  from  my  visit  in  the  dark.  It  was 
of  two  stories,  the  upper  half  being  a  cozy  lounging- 
room,  with  wide  windows  and  a  fine  outlook  over  the 
water.  The  unplastered  walls  were  hung  with  Indian 
blankets;  lounging-chairs  and  a  broad  seat  under  the 
windows,  colored  matting  on  the  floor  and  a  few  prints 
pinned  upon  the  Navajoes  gave  further  color  to  the 
place. 

I  followed  the  pebbly  shore  to  the  stone  wall  where 
it  marked  the  line  of  the  school-grounds.  The  wall,  I 
observed,  was  of  the  same  solid  character  here  as  along 
the  road.  I  tramped  beside  it,  reflecting  that  my  grand 
father's  estate,  in  the  heart  of  the  Republic,  would  some 
day  give  the  lie  to  foreign  complaints  that  we  have  no 
ruins  in  America. 


76   THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

I  had  assumed  that  there  was  no  opening  in  the  wall, 
but  half-way  to  the  road  I  found  an  iron  gate,  fastened 
with  chain  and  padlock,  by  means  of  which  I  climbed 
to  the  top.  The  pillars  at  either  side  of  the  gate  were  of 
huge  dimensions  and  were  higher  than  I  could  reach. 
An  intelligent  forester  had  cleared  the  wood  in  the 
school-grounds,  which  were  of  the  same  general  char 
acter  as  the  Glenarm  estate.  The  little  Gothic  church 
near  at  hand  was  built  of  stone  similar  to  that  used  in 
Glenarm  House.  As  I  surveyed  the  scene  a  number  of 
young  women  came  from  one  of  the  school-buildings 
and,  forming  in  twos  and  fours,  walked  back  and  forth 
in  a  rough  path  that  led  to  the  chapel.  A  Sister  clad  in  a 
brown  habit  lingered  near  or  walked  first  with  one  and 
then  another  of  the  students.  It  was  all  very  pretty  and 
interesting  and  not  at  all  the  ugly  school  for  paupers  I 
had  expected  to  find.  The  students  were  not  the  charity 
children  I  had  carelessly  pictured;  they  were  not  so 
young,  for  one  thing,  and  they  seemed  to  be  appareled 
decently  enough. 

I  smiled  to  find  myself  adjusting  my  scarf  and 
straightening  my  collar  as  I  beheld  my  neighbors  for 
the  first  time. 

As  I  sat  thus  on  the  wall  I  heard  the  sound  of  angry 
voices  back  of  me  on  the  Glenarm  side,  and  a  crash  of 
underbrush  marked  a  flight  and  pursuit.  I  crouched 


A   EED   TAM-O'-SHANTER  77 

down  on  the  wall  and  waited.  In  a  moment  a  man 
plunged  through  the  wood  and  stumbled  over  a  low- 
hanging  vine  and  fell,  not  ten  yards  from  where  I  lay. 
To  my  great  surprise  it  was  Morgan,  my  acquaintance 
of  the  morning.  He  rose,  cursed  his  ill  luck  and,  hug 
ging  the  wall  close,  ran  toward  the  lake.  Instantly  the 
pursuer  broke  into  view.  It  was  Bates,  evidently  much 
excited  and  with  an  ugly  cut  across  his  forehead.  He 
carried  a  heavy  club,  and,  after  listening  for  a  moment 
for  sounds  of  the  enemy,  he  hurried  after  the  caretaker. 

It  was  not  my  row,  though  I  must  say  it  quickened 
my  curiosity.  I  straightened  myself  out,  threw  my  legs 
over  the  school  side  of  the  wall  and  lighted  a  cigar, 
feeling  cheered  by  the  opportunity  the  stone  barricade 
offered  for  observing  the  world. 

As  I  looked  off  toward  the  little  church  I  found  two 
other  actors  appearing  on  the  scene.  A  girl  stood  in  a 
little  opening  of  the  wood,  talking  to  a  man.  Her  hands 
were  thrust  into  the  pockets  of  her  covert  coat ;  she  wore 
a  red  tam-o'-shanter,  that  made  a  bright  bit  of  color  in 
the  wood.  They  were  not  more  than  twenty  feet  away, 
but  a  wild  growth  of  young  maples  lay  between  us, 
screening  the  wall.  Their  profiles  were  toward  me,  and 
the  tones  of  the  girl's  voice  reached  me  clearly,  as  she 
addressed  her  companion.  He  wore  a  clergyman's  high 
waistcoat,  and  I  assumed  that  he  was  the  chaplain  whom 


78      THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

Bates  had  mentioned.  I  am  not  by  nature  an  eaves 
dropper,  but  the  girl  was  clearly  making  a  plea  of  some 
kind,  and  the  chaplain's  stalwart  figure  awoke  in  me  an 
antagonism  that  held  me  to  the  wall. 

"If  he  comes  here  I  shall  go  away,  so  you  may  as  well 
understand  it  and  tell  him.  I  shan't  see  him  under  any 
circumstances,  and  I'm  not  going  to  Florida  or  Cali 
fornia  or  anywhere  else  in  a  private  car,  no  matter  who 
chaperones  it" 

"Certainly  not,  unless  you  want  to — certainly  not," 
said  the  chaplain.  "You  understand  that  I'm  only  giv 
ing  you  his  message.  He  thought  it  best — " 

"Not  to  write  to  me  or  to  Sister  Theresa!"  inter 
rupted  the  girl  contemptuously.  "What  a  clever  man 
he  is !" 

"And  how  unclever  I  am !"  said  the  clergman,  laugh 
ing.  "Well,  I  thank  you  for  giving  me  the  opportunity 
to  present  his  message." 

She  smiled,  nodded  and  turned  swiftly  toward  the 
school.  The  chaplain  looked  after  her  for  a  few  mo 
ments,  then  walked  away  soberly  toward  the  lake.  He 
was  a  young  fellow,  clean-shaven  and  dark,  and  with  a 
pair  of  shoulders  that  gave  me  a  twinge  of  envy.  I  could 
not  guess  how  great  a  factor  that  vigorous  figure  was  to 
be  in  my  own  affairs.  As  I  swung  down  from  the  wall 
and  walked  toward  Glenarm  House,  my  thoughts  were 


A   RED   TAM-O'-SHANTER  79 

not  with  the  athletic  chaplain,  but  with  the  girl,  whose 
youth  was,  I  reflected,  marked  by  her  short  skirt,  the  un 
concern  with  which  her  hands  were  thrust  into  the 
pockets  of  her  coat,  and  the  irresponsible  tilt  of  the  tam- 
o'-shanter.  There  is  something  jaunty,  a  suggestion  of 
spirit  and  independence  in  a  tam-o'-shanter,  particularly 
a  red  one.  If  the  red  tam-o'-shanter  expressed,  so  to 
speak,  the  key-note  of  St.  Agatha's,  the  proximity  of  the 
school  was  not  so  bad  a  thing  after  all. 

In  high  good-humor  and  with  a  sharp  appetite  I  went 
in  to  luncheon. 


CHAPTEE   VI 

THE  GIRL  AND  THE  CANOE 

"The  persimmons  are  off  the  place,  sir.  Mr.  Glenarm 
was  very  fond  of  the  fruit." 

I  had  never  seen  a  persimmon  before,  but  I  was  in  a 
mood  for  experiment.  The  frost-broken  rind  was  cer 
tainly  forbidding,  but  the  rich  pulp  brought  a  surprise 
of  joy  to  my  palate.  Bates  watched  me  with  respectful 
satisfaction.  His  gravity  was  in  no  degree  diminished 
by  the  presence  of  a  neat  strip  of  flesh-colored  court- 
plaster  over  his  right  eye.  A  faint  suggestion  of  arnica 
hung  in  the  air. 

"This  is  a  quiet  life,"  I  remarked,  wishing  to  give 
him  an  opportunity  to-  explain  his  encounter  of  the 
morning. 

"You  are  quite  right,  sir.  As  your  grandfather  used 
to  say,  it's  a  place  of  peace." 

"When  nobody  shoots  at  you  through  a  window,"  I 
suggested. 

"Such  a  thing  is  likely  to  happen  to  any  gentleman," 
he  replied,  "but  not  likely  to  happen  more  than  once,  if 
you'll  allow  the  philosophy." 

80 


THE    GIRL   AND   THE    CANOE  81 

He  did  not  refer  to  his  encounter  with  the  caretaker, 
and  I  resolved  to  keep  my  knowledge  of  it  to  myself.  I 
always  prefer  to  let  a  rascal  hang  himself,  and  here  was 
a  case,  I  reasoned,  where,  if  Bates  were  disloyal  to  the 
duties  Pickering  had  imposed  upon  him,  the  fact  of  his 
perfidy  was  bound  to  disclose  itself  eventually.  Glanc 
ing  around  at  him  when  he  was  off  guard  I  surprised 
a  look  of  utter  dejection  upon  his  face  as  he  stood  with 
folded  arms  behind  my  chair. 

He  flushed  and  started,  then  put  his  hand  to  his  fore 
head. 

"I  met  with  a  slight  accident  this  morning,  sir.  The 
hickory's  very  tough,  sir.  A  piece  of  wood  flew  up  and 
struck  me." 

"Too  bad!"  I  said  with  sympathy.  "You'd  better 
rest  a  bit  this  afternoon." 

"Thank  you,  sir;  but  it's  a  small  matter, — only,  you 
might  think  it  a  trifle  disfiguring." 

He  struck  a  match  for  my  cigarette,  and  I  left  with 
out  looking  at  him  again.  But  as  I  crossed  the  thresh 
old  of  the  library  I  formulated  this  note:  "Bates  is  a 
liar,  for  one  thing,  and  a  person  with  active  enemies  for 
another ;  watch  him." 

All  things  considered,  the  day  was  passing  well 
enough.  I  picked  up  a  book,  and  threw  myself  on  a  com 
fortable  divan  to  smoke  and  reflect  before  continuing  my 


82      THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

explorations.  As  I  lay  there,  Bates  brought  me  a  tele 
gram,  a  reply  to  my  message  to  Pickering.  It  read: 

"Yours  announcing  arrival  received  and  filed." 

It  was  certainly  a  queer  business,  my  errand  to  Glen- 
arm.  I  lay  for  a  couple  of  hours  dreaming,  and  counted 
the  candles  in  the  great  crystal  chandelier  until  my  eyes 
ached.  Then  I  rose,  took  my  cap,  and  was  soon  tramping 
off  toward  the  lake. 

There  were  several  small  boats  and  a  naphtha  launch 
in  the  boat-house.  I  dropped  a  canoe  into  the  water  and 
paddled  off  toward  the  summer  colony,  whose  gables  and 
chimneys  were  plainly  visible  from  the  Glenarm  shore. 

I  landed  and  roamed  idly  over  leaf -strewn  walks  past 
nearly  a  hundred  cottages,  to  whose  windows  and  veran 
das  the  winter  blinds  gave  a  dreary  and  inhospitable 
air.  There  was,  at  one  point,  a  casino,  whose  broad  ve 
randa  hung  over  the  edge  of  the  lake,  while  beneath,  on 
the  water-side,  was  a  boat-house.  I  had  from  this  point 
a  fine  view  of  the  lake,  and  I  took  advantage  of  it  to 
fix  in  my  mind  the  topography  of  the  region.  I  could 
see  the  bold  outlines  of  Glenarm  House  and  its  red-tile 
roofs;  and  the  gray  tower  of  the  little  chapel  beyond 
the  wall  rose  above  the  wood  with  a  placid  dignity. 
Above  the  trees  everywhere  hung  the  shadowy  smoke  of 
autumn. 

I  walked  back  to  the  wharf,  where  I  had  left  my 


THE    GIEL   AND   THE    CANOE  83 

canoe,  and  was  about  to  step  into  it  when  I  saw,  rock 
ing  at  a  similar  landing-place  near-by,  another  slight 
craft  of  the  same  type  as  my  own,  but  painted  dark 
maroon.  I  was  sure  the  canoe  had  not  been  there  when 
I  landed.  Possibly  it  belonged  to  Morgan,  the  care 
taker.  I  walked  over  and  examined  it.  I  even  lifted  it 
slightly  in  the  water  to  test  its  weight.  The  paddle  lay 
on  the  dock  beside  me  and  it,  too,  I  weighed  critically, 
deciding  that  it  was  a  trifle  light  for  my  own  taste. 

"Please — if  you  don't  mind — " 

I  turned  to  stand  face  to  face  with  the  girl  in  the  red 
tam-o'-shanter. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  I  said,  stepping  away  from  the 
canoe. 

She  did  not  wear  the  covert  coat  of  the  morning,  but 
a  red  knit  jacket,  buttoned  tight  about  her.  She  was 
young  with  every  emphasis  of  youth.  A  pair  of  dark 
blue  eyes  examined  me  with  good-humored  curiosity. 
She  was  on  good  terms  with  the  sun — I  rejoiced  in  the 
brown  of  her  cheeks,  so  eloquent  of  companionship  with 
the  outdoor  world — a  certificate  indeed  of  the  favor  of 
Heaven.  Show  me,  in  October,  a  girl  with  a  face  of 
tan,  whose  hands  have  plied  a  paddle  or  driven  a  golf- 
ball  or  cast  a  fly  beneath  the  blue  arches  of  summer, 
and  I  will  suffer  her  scorn  in  joy.  She  may  vote  me 
dull  and  refute  my  wisest  word  with  laughter,  for  hers 


84      THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

are  the  privileges  of  the  sisterhood  of  Diana;  and  that 
soft  bronze,  those  daring  fugitive  freckles  beneath  her 
eyes,  link  her  to  times  when  Pan  whistled  upon  his  reed 
and  all  the  days  were  long. 

She  had  approached  silently  and  was  enjoying,  I  felt 
sure,  my  discomfiture  at  being  taken  unawares. 

I  had  snatched  off  my  cap  and  stood  waiting  beside 
the  canoe,  feeling,  I  must  admit,  a  trifle  guilty  at  being 
caught  in  the  unwarrantable  inspection  of  another  per 
son's  property — particularly  a  person  so  wholly  pleasing 
to  the  eye. 

"Eeally,  if  you  don't  need  that  paddle  any  more — " 

I  looked  down  and  found  to  my  annoyance  that  I  held 
it  in  my  hand, — was  in  fact  leaning  upon  it  with  a  cool 
air  of  proprietorship. 

"Again,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  I  said.  "I  hadn't  ex 
pected — " 

She  eyed  me  calmly  with  the  stare  of  the  child  that 
arrives  at  a  drawing-room  door  by  mistake  and  scruti 
nizes  the  guests  without  awe.  I  didn't  know  what  I  had 
expected  or  had  not  expected,  and  she  manifested-  no 
intention  of  helping  me  to  explain.  Her  short  skirt 
suggested  fifteen  or  sixteen — not  more — and  such  being 
the  case  there  was  no  reason  why  I  should  not  be  mas 
ter  of  the  situation.  As  I  fumbled  my  pipe  the  hot  coals 


85 

of  tobacco  burned  my  hand  and  I  cast  the  thing  from 
me. 

She  laughed  a  little  and  watched  the  pipe  bound  from 
the  dock  into  the  water. 

"Too  bad  I"  she  said,  her  eyes  upon  it ;  "but  if  you 
hurry  you  may  get  it  before  it  floats  away." 

"Thank  you  for  the  suggestion/'  I  said.  But  I  did 
not  relish  the  idea  of  kneeling  on  the  dock  to  fish  for  a 
pipe  before  a  strange  school-girl  who  was,  I  felt  sure, 
anxious  to  laugh  at  me. 

She  took  a  step  toward  the  line  by  which  her  boat  was 
fastened. 

"Allow  me." 

"If  you  think  you  can, — safely,"  she  said;  and  the 
laughter  that  lurked  in  her  eyes  annoyed  me. 

"The  feminine  knot  is  designed  for  the  confusion  of 
man,"  I  observed,  twitching  vainly  at  the  rope,  which 
was  tied  securely  in  unfamiliar  loops. 

She  was  singularly  unresponsive.  The  thought  that 
she  was  probably  laughing  at  my  clumsiness  did  not 
make  my  fingers  more  nimble. 

"The  nautical  instructor  at  St.  Agatha's  is  undoubt 
edly  a  woman.  This  knot  must  come  in  the  post-grad 
uate  course.  But  my  gallantry  is  equal,  I  trust,  to  your 
patience." 


86   THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CAXDLES 

The  maid  in  the  red  tam-o'-shanter  continued  silent. 
The  wet  rope  was  obdurate,  the  knot  more  and  more 
hopeless,  and  my  efforts  to  make  light  of  the  situation 
awakened  no  response  in  the  girl.  I  tugged  away  at  the 
rope,  attacking  its  tangle  on  various  theories. 

"A  case  for  surgery,  I'm  afraid.  A  truly  Gordian  knot, 
but  I  haven't  my  knife." 

•    "Oh,  but  you  wouldn't!"  she  exclaimed.    "I  think  I 
can  manage." 

She  bent  down — I  was  aware  that  the  sleeve  of  her 
jacket  brushed  my  shoulder — seized  an  end  that  I  had 
ignored,  gave  it  a  sharp  tug  with  a  slim  brown  hand  and 
pulled  the  knot  free. 

"There !"  she  exclaimed  with  a  little  laugh ;  "I  might 
have  saved  you  all  the  bother." 

"How  dull  of  me !  But  I  didn't  have  the  combination," 
I  said,  steadying  the  canoe  carefully  to  mitigate  the 
ignominy  of  my  failure. 

She  scorned  the  hand  I  extended,  but  embarked  with 
light  confident  step  and  took  the  paddle.  It  was  grow 
ing  late.  The  shadows  in  the  wood  were  deepening;  a 
chill  crept  over  the  water,  and,  beyond  the  tower  of  the 
chapel,  the  sky  was  bright  with  the  splendor  of  sunset. 

With  a  few  skilful  strokes  she  brought  her  little  craft 
beside  my  pipe,  picked  it  up  and  tossed  it  to  the  wharf. 


THE    GIRL   AND   THE   CANOE  87 

"Perhaps  you  can  pipe  a  tune  upon  it,"  she  said,  dip 
ping  the  paddle  tentatively. 

"You  put  me  under  great  obligations,"  I  declared. 
"Are  all  the  girls  at  St.  Agatha's  as  amiable  ?" 

"I  should  say  not!  I'm  a  great  exception, — and — I 
really  shouldn't  be  talking  to  you  at  all!  It's  against 
the  rules !  And  we  don't  encourage  smoking." 

"The  chaplain  doesn't  smoke,  I  suppose." 

"Not  in  chapel;  I  believe  it  isn't  done!  And  we 
rarely  see  him  elsewhere." 

She  had  idled  with  the  paddle  so  far,  but  now  lifted 
her  eyes  and  drew  back  the  blade  for  a  long  stroke. 

"But  in  the  wood — this  morning — by  the  wall  \" 

I  hate  myself  to  this  day  for  having  so  startled  her. 
The  poised  blade  dropped  into  the  water  with  a  splash ; 
she  brought  the  canoe  a  trifle  nearer  to  the  wharf  with 
an  almost  imperceptible  stroke,  and  turned  toward  me 
with  wonder  and  dismay  in  her  eyes. 

"So  you  are  an  eavesdropper  and  detective,  are  you? 
I  beg  that  you  will  give  your  master  my  compliments ! 
I  really  owe  you  an  apology ;  I  thought  you  were  a  gen 
tleman!"  she  exclaimed  with  withering  emphasis,  and 
dipped  her  blade  deep  in  flight. 

I  called,  stammering  incoherently,  after  her,  but  her 
light  argosy  skimmed  the  water  steadily.  The  paddle 


88   THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

rose  and  fell  with  trained  precision,  making  scarcely  a 
ripple  as  she  stole  softly  away  toward  the  fairy  towers 
of  the  sunset.  I  stood  looking  after  her,  goaded  with 
self-contempt.  A  glory  of  yellow  and  red  filled  the  west. 
Suddenly  the  wind  moaned  in  the  wood  behind  the  line 
of  cottages,  swept  over  me  and  rippled  the  surface  of  the 
lake.  I  watched  its  flight  until  it  caught  her  canoe  and 
I  marked  the  flimsy  craft's  quick  response,  as  the  shaken 
waters  bore  her  alert  figure  upward  on  the  swell,  her 
blade  still  maintaining  its  regular  dip,  until  she  disap 
peared  behind  a  little  peninsula  that  made  a  harbor  near 
the  school  grounds. 

The  red  tam-o'-shanter  seemed  at  last  to  merge  in  the 
red  sky,  and  I  turned  to  my  canoe  and  paddled  cheer 
lessly  home. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   MAN  ON   THE  WALL 

I  was  so  thoroughly  angry  with  myself  that  after 
idling  along  the  shores  for  an  hour  I  lost  my  way  in  the 
dark  wood  when  I  landed  and  brought  up  at  the  rear 
door  used  by  Bates  for  communication  with  the  vil 
lagers  who  supplied  us  with  provender.  I  readily  found 
my  way  to  the  kitchen  and  to  a  flight  of  stairs  beyond, 
which  connected  the  first  and  second  floors.  The  house 
was  dark,  and  my  good  spirits  were  not  increased  as  I 
stumbled  up  the  unfamiliar  way  in  the  dark,  with,  I 
fear,  a  malediction  upon  my  grandfather,  who  had  built 
and  left  incomplete  a  house  so  utterly  preposterous.  My 
unpardonable  fling  at  the  girl  still  rankled;  and  I  was 
cold  from  the  quick  descent  of  the  night  chill  on  the 
water  and  anxious  to  get  into  more  comfortable  clothes. 
Once  on  the  second  floor  I  felt  that  I  knew  the  way  to 
my  room,  and  I  was  feeling  my  way  toward  it  over  the 
rough  floor  when  I  heard  low  voices  rising  apparently 
from  my  sitting-room. 

It  was  pitch  dark  in  the  hall.  I  stopped  short  and 
listened.  The  door  of  my  room  was  open  and  a  faint 


90   THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

light  flashed  once  into  the  hall  and  disappeared.  I  heard 
now  a  sound  as  of  a  hammer  tapping  upon  wood-work. 

Then  it  ceased,  and  a  voice  whispered : 

"He'll  kill  me  if  he  finds  me  here.  I'll  try  again  to 
morrow.  I  swear  to  God  I'll  help  you,  but  no  more 
now — " 

Then  the  sound  of  a  scuffle  and  again  the  tapping  of 
the  hammer.  After  several  minutes  more  of  this  there 
was  a  whispered  dialogue  which  I  could  not  hear. 

Whatever  was  occurring,  two  or  three  points  struck 
me  on  the  instant.  One  of  the  conspirators  was  an  un 
willing  party  to  an  act  as  yet  unknown;  second,  they 
had  been  unsuccessful  and  must  wait  for  another  op 
portunity  ;  and  third,  the  business,  whatever  it  was,  was 
clearty  of  some  importance  to  myself,  as  my  own  apart 
ments  in  my  grandfather's  strange  house  had  been 
chosen  for  the  investigation. 

Clearly,  I  was  not  prepared  to  close  the  incident,  but 
the  idea  of  frightening  my  visitors  appealed  to  my  sense 
of  humor.  I  tiptoed  to  the  front  stairway,  ran  lightly 
down,  found  the  front  door,  and,  from  the  inside, 
opened  and  slammed  it.  I  heard  instantly  a  hurried 
scamper  above,  and  the  heavy  fall  of  one  who  had  stum 
bled  in  the  dark.  I  grinned  with  real  pleasure  at  the 
sound  of  this  mishap,  hurried  into  the  great  library, 
which  was  as  dark  as  a  well,  and,  opening  one  of  the  long 


THE   MAN   ON   THE    WALL  91 

windows,  stepped  out  on  the  balcony.  At  once  from  the 
rear  of  the  house  came  the  sound  of  a  stealthy  step, 
which  increased  to  a  run  at  the  ravine  bridge.  I  listened 
to  the  flight  of  the  fugitive  through  the  wood  until  the 
sounds  died  away  toward  the  lake. 

Then,  turning  to  the  library  windows,  I  saw  Bates, 
with  a  candle  held  above  his  head,  peering  about. 

"Hello,  Bates,"  I  called  cheerfully.  "I  just  got  home 
and  stepped  out  to  see  if  the  moon  had  risen.  I  don't 
believe  I  know  where  to  look  for  it  in  this  country." 

He  began  lighting  the  tapers  with  his  usual  deliber 
ation. 

"It's  a  trifle  early,  I  think,  sir.  About  seven  o'clock, 
I  should  say,  was  the  hour,  Mr.  Glenarm." 

There  was,  of  course,  no  doubt  whatever  that  Bates 
had  been  one  of  the  men  I  heard  in  my  room.  It  was 
wholly  possible  that  he  had  been  compelled  to  assist  in 
some  lawless  act  against  his  will;  but  why,  if  he  had 
been  forced  into  aiding  a  criminal,  should  he  not  invoke 
my  own  aid  to  protect  himself  ?  I  kicked  the  logs  in  the 
fireplace  impatiently  in  my  uncertainty.  The  man  slow 
ly  lighted  the  many  candles  in  the  great  apartment. 
He  was  certainly  a  deep  one,  and  his  case  grew  more 
puzzling  as  I  studied  it  in  relation  to  the  rifle-shot  of 
the  night  before,  his  collision  with  Morgan  in  the  wood, 
which  I  had  witnessed;  and  now  the  house  itself  had 


92      THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

been  invaded  by  some  one  with  his  connivance.  The 
shot  through  the  refectory  window  might  have  been  in 
nocent  enough;  but  these  other  matters  in  connection 
with  it  could  hardly  be  brushed  aside. 

Bates  lighted  me  to  the  stairway,  and  said  as  I  passed 
him: 

"There's  a  baked  ham  for  dinner.  I  should  call  it  ex 
tra  delicate,  Mr.  Glenarm.  I  suppose  there's  no  change 
in  the  dinner  hour,  sir  ?" 

"Certainly  not,"  I  said  with  asperity;  for  I  am  not  a 
person  to  inaugurate  a  dinner  hour  one  day  and  change 
it  the  next.  Bates  wished  to  make  conversation, — the 
sure  sign  of  a  guilty  conscience  in  a  servant, — and  I  was 
not  disposed  to  encourage  him. 

I  closed  the  doors  carefully  and  began  a  thorough 
examination  of  both  the  sitting-room  and  the  little  bed 
chamber.  I  was  quite  sure  that  my  own  effects  could 
not  have  attracted  the  two  men  who  had  taken  ad 
vantage  of  my  absence  to  visit  my  quarters.  Bates  had 
helped  unpack  my  trunk  and  undoubtedly  knew  every 
item  of  my  simple  wardrobe.  I  threw  open  the  doors 
of  the  three  closets  in  the  rooms  and  found  them  all  in 
the  good  order  established  by  Bates.  He  had  carried  my 
trunks  and  bags  to  a  store-room,  so  that  everything  I 
owned  must  have  passed  under  his  eye.  My  money  even, 
the  remnant  of  my  fortune  that  I  had  drawn  from  the 


THE   MAN   ON   THE    WALL  93 

New  York  bank,  I  had  placed  carelessly  enough  in  the 
drawer  of  a  chiffonnier  otherwise  piled  with  collars.  It 
took  but  a  moment  to  satisfy  myself  that  this  had  not 
been  touched.  And,  to  be  sure,  a  hammer  was  not  neces 
sary  to  open  a  drawer  that  had,  from  its  appearance, 
never  been  locked.  The  game  was  deeper  than  I  had 
imagined ;  I  had  scratched  the  crust  without  result,  and 
my  wits  were  busy  with  speculations  as  I  changed  my 
clothes,  pausing  frequently  to  examine  the  furniture, 
even  the  bricks  on  the  hearth. 

One  thing  only  I  found — the  slight  scar  of  a  hammer 
head  on  the  oak  paneling  that  ran  around  the  bedroom. 
The  wood  had  been  struck  near  the  base  and  at  the  top 
of  every  panel,  for  though  the  mark  was  not  perceptible 
on  all,  a  test  had  evidently  been  made  systematically. 
With  this  as  a  beginning,  I  found  a  moment  later  a  spot 
of  tallow  under  a  heavy  table  in  one  corner.  Evidently 
the  furniture  had  been  moved  to  permit  of  the  closest 
scrutiny  of  the  paneling.  Even  behind  the  bed  I  found 
the  same  impress  of  the  hammer-head ;  the  test  had  un 
doubtedly  been  thorough,  for  a  pretty  smart  tap  on  oak 
is  necessary  to  leave  an  impression.  My  visitors  had 
undoubtedly  been  making  soundings  in  search  of  a  re 
cess  of  some  kind  in  the  wall,  and  as  they  had  failed  of 
their  purpose  they  were  likely,  I  assumed,  to  pursue 
their  researches  further. 


94      THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

I  pondered  these  things  with  a  thoroughly-awakened 
interest  in  life.  Glenarm  House  really  promised  to  prove 
exciting.  I  took  from  a  drawer  a  small  revolver,  filled 
its  chambers  with  cartridges  and  thrust  it  into  my  hip 
pocket,  whistling  meanwhile  Larry  Donovan's  favorite 
air,  the  Mar  die  Funebre  d'une  Marionnette.  My  heart 
went  out  to  Larry  as  I  scented  adventure,  and  I  wished 
him  with  me ;  but  speculations  as  to  Larry's  whereabouts 
were  always  profitless,  and  quite  likely  he  was  in  jail 
somewhere. 

The  ham  of  whose  excellence  Bates  had  hinted  was  no 
disappointment.  There  is,  I  have  always  held,  nothing 
better  in  this  world  than  a  baked  ham,  and  the  specimen 
Bates  placed  before  me  was  a  delight  to  the  eye, — so 
adorned  was  it  with  spices,  so  crisply  brown  its  outer 
coat;  and  a  taste — that  first  tentative  taste,  before  the 
sauce  was  added — was  like  a  dream  of  Lucullus  come 
true.  I  could  forgive  a  good  deal  in  a  cook  with  that 
touch, — anything  short  of  arson  and  assassination ! 

"Bates,"  I  said,  as  he  stood  forth  where  I  could  see 
him,  "you  cook  amazingly  well.  Where  did  you  learn 
the  business  ?" 

"Your  grandfather  grew  very  captious,  Mr.  Glenarm. 
I  had  to  learn  to  satisf}*  him,  and  I  believe  I  did  it,  sir, 
if  you'll  pardon  the  conceit." 


THE    MAN    ON   THE    WALL  95 

"He  didn't  die  of  gout,  did  he?  I  can  readily  im 
agine  it." 

"No,  Mr.  Glenarm.  It  was  his  heart.  He  had  his 
warning  of  it." 

"Ah,  yes ;  to  be  sure.  The  heart  or  the  stomach, — one 
may  as  well  fail  as  the  other.  I  believe  I  prefer  to  keep 
my  digestion  going  as  long  as  possible.  Those  grilled 
sweet  potatoes  again,  if  you  please,  Bates." 

The  game  that  he  and  I  were  playing  appealed  to  me 
strongly.  It  was  altogether  worth  while,  and  as  I  ate 
guava  jelly  with  cheese  and  toasted  crackers,  and  then 
lighted  one  of  my  own  cigars  over  a  cup  of  Bates'  un 
failing  coffee,  my  spirit  was  livelier  than  at  any  time 
since  a  certain  evening  on  which  Larry  and  I  had 
escaped  from  Tangier  with  our  lives  and  the  curses  of 
the  police.  It  is  a  melancholy  commentary  on  life  that 
contentment  comes  more  easily  through  the  stomach 
than  along  any  other  avenue.  In  the  great  library,  with 
its  rich  store  of  books  and  its  eternal  candles,  I  sprawled 
upon  a  divan  before  the  fire  and  smoked  and  indulged 
in  pleasant  speculations.  The  day  had  offered  much 
material  for  fireside  reflection,  and  I  reviewed  its  his 
tory  calmly. 

There  was,  however,  one  incident  that  I  found  un 
pleasant  in  the  retrospect.  I  had  been  guilty  of  most 


96      THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

unchivalrous  conduct  toward  one  of  the  girls  of  St. 
Agatha's.  It  had  certainly  been  unbecoming  in  me  to 
sit  on  the  wall,  however  unwillingly,  and  listen  to  the 
words — few  though  they  were — that  passed  between  her 
and  the  chaplain.  I  forgot  the  shot  through  the  window ; 
I  forgot  Bates  and  the  interest  my  room  possessed  for 
him  and  his  unknown  accomplice;  but  the  sudden  dis 
trust  and  contempt  I  had  awakened  in  the  girl  by  my 
clownish  behavior  annoyed  me  increasingly. 

I  rose  presently,  found  my  cap  in  a  closet  under  the 
stairs,  and  went  out  into  the  moon-flooded  wood  toward 
the  lake.  The  tangle  was  not  so  great  when  you  knew 
the  way,  and  there  was  indeed,  as  I  had  found,  the  faint 
suggestion  of  a  path.  The  moon  glorified  a  broad  high 
way  across  the  water;  the  air  was  sharp  and  still.  The 
houses  in  the  summer  colony  were  vaguely  defined,  but 
the  sight  of  them  gave  me  no  cheer.  The  tilt  of  her 
tam-o'-shanter  as  she  paddled  away  into  the  sunset  had 
conveyed  an  impression  of  spirit  and  dignity  that  I  could 
not  adjust  to  any  imaginable  expiation. 

These  reflections  carried  me  to  the  borders  of  St. 
Agatha's,  and  I  followed  the  wall  to  the  gate,  climbed 
up,  and  sat  down  in  the  shadow  of  the  pillar  farthest 
from  the  lake.  Lights  shone  scatteringly  in  the  build 
ings  of  St.  Agatha's,  but  the  place  was  wholly  silent. 
I  drew  out  a  cigarette  and  was  about  to  light  it  when 


THE   MAN   ON   THE   WALL  97 

I  heard  a  sound  as  of  a  tread  on  stone.  There  was,  I 
knew,  no  stone  pavement  at  hand,  but  peering  toward 
the  lake  I  saw  a  man  walking  boldly  along  the  top  of  the 
wall  toward  me.  The  moonlight  threw  his  figure  into 
clear  relief.  Several  times  he  paused,  bent  down  and 
rapped  upon  the  wall  with  an  object  he  carried  in  his 
hand. 

Only  a  few  hours  before  I  had  heard  a  similar  sound 
rising  from  the  wainscoting  of  my  own  room  in  Glen- 
arm  House.  Evidently  the  stone  wall,  too,  was  under 
suspicion ! 

Tap,  tap,  tap!  The  man  with  the  hammer  was  ex 
amining  the  farther  side  of  the  gate,  and  very  likely  he 
would  carry  his  investigations  beyond  it.  I  drew  up  my 
legs  and  crouched  in  the  shadow  of  the  pillar,  revolver 
in  hand.  I  was  not  anxious  for  an  encounter;  I  much 
preferred  to  wait  for  a  disclosure  of  the  purpose  that  lay 
behind  this  mysterious  tapping  upon  walls  on  my  grand 
father's  estate. 

But  the  matter  was  taken  out  of  my  own  hands  before 
I  had  a  chance  to  debate  it.  The  man  dropped  to  the 
ground,  sounded  the  stone  base  under  the  gate,  like 
wise  the  pillars,  evidently  without  results,  struck  a  spite 
ful  crack  upon  the  iron  bars,  then  stood  up  abruptly  and 
looked  me  straight  in  the  eyes.  It  was  Morgan,  the 
caretaker  of  the  summer  colony. 


98   THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"Good  evening,  Mr.  Morgan,"  I  said,  settling  the  re 
volver  into  my  hand. 

There  was  no  doubt  about  his  surprise;  he  fell  back, 
staring  at  me  hard,  and  instinctively  drawing  the  ham 
mer  over  his  shoulder  as  though  to  fling  it  at  me. 

"Just  stay  where  you  are  a  moment,  Morgan,"  I  said 
pleasantly,  and  dropped  to  a  sitting  position  on  the  wall 
for  greater  ease  in  talking  to  him. 

He  stood  sullenly,  the  hammer  dangling  at  arm's 
length,  while  my  revolver  covered  his  head. 

"Now,  if  you  please,  I'd  like  to  know  what  you  mean 
by  prowling  about  here  and  rummaging  my  house !" 

"Oh,  it's  you,  is  it,  Mr.  Glenarm  ?  Well,  you  certainly 
gave  me  a  bad  scare." 

His  air  wa?  one  of  relief  and  his  teeth  showed  pleas 
antly  through  his  beard. 

"It  certainly  is  I.  But  you  haven't  answered  my  ques 
tion.  What  were  you  doing  in  my  house  to-day  ?" 

He  smiled  again,  shaking  his  head. 

"You're  really  fooling,  Mr.  Glenarm.  I  wasn't  in 
your  house  to-day ;  I  never  was  in  it  in  my  life !" 

His  white  teeth  gleamed  in  his  light  beard;  his  hat 
was  pushed  back  from  his  forehead  so  that  I  saw  his 
eyes,  and  he  wore  unmistakably  the  air  of  a  man  whose 
conscience  is  perfectly  clear.  I  was  confident  that  he 


99 

lied,  but  without  appealing  to  Bates  I  was  not  prepared 
to  prove  it. 

"But  you  can't  deny  that  you're  on  my  grounds  now, 
can  you  ?"  I  had  dropped  the  revolver  to  my  knee,  but 
I  raised  it  again. 

"Certainly  not,  Mr.  Glenarm.  If  you'll  allow  me  to 
explain — " 

"That's  precisely  what  I  want  you  to  do." 

"Well,  it  may  seem  strange," — he  laughed,  and  I  felt 
the  least  bit  foolish  to  be  pointing  a  pistol  at  the  head 
of  a  fellow  of  so  amiable  a  spirit. 

"Hurry,"  I  commanded. 

"Well,  as  I  was  saying,  it  may  seem  strange;  but  I 
was  just  examining  the  wall  to  determine  the  character 
of  the  work.  One  of  the  cottagers  on  the  lake  left  me 
with  the  job  of  building  a  fence  on  his  place,  and  I've 
been  expecting  to  come  over  to  look  at  this  all  fall. 
You  see,  Mr.  Glenarm,  your  honored  grandfather  was 
a  master  in  such  matters,  as  you  may  know,  and  I  didn't 
see  any  harm  in  getting  the  benefit — to  put  it  so — of  his 
experience." 

I  laughed.  He  had  denied  having  entered  the  house 
with  so  much  assurance  that  I  had  been  prepared  for 
some  really  plausible  explanation  of  his  interest  in  the 
wall. 


100  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"Morgan — you  said  it  was  Morgan,  didn't  you  ? — you 
are  undoubtedly  a  scoundrel  of  the  first  water.  I  make 
the  remark  with  pleasure." 

"Men  have  heen  killed  for  saying  less/'  he  said. 

"And  for  doing  less  than  firing  through  windows  at  a 
man's  head.  It  wasn't  friendly  of  you." 

"I  don't  see  why  you  center  all  your  suspicions  on 
me.  You  exaggerate  my  importance,  Mr.  Glenarm.  I'm 
only  the  man-of-all-work  at  a  summer  resort." 

"I  wouldn't  believe  you,  Morgan,  if  you  swore  on  a. 
stack  of  Bibles  as  high  as  this  wall." 

"Thanks !"  he  ejaculated  mockingly. 

Like  a  flash  he  swung  the  hammer  over  his  head  and 
drove  it  at  me,  and  at  the  same  moment  I  fired.  The 
hammer-head  struck  the  pillar  near  the  outer  edge  and 
in  such  a  manner  that  the  handle  flew  around  and 
smote  me  smartly  in  the  face.  By  the  time  I  reached 
the  ground  the  man  was  already  running  rapidly 
through  the  park,  darting  in  and  out  among  the  trees, 
and  I  made  after  him  at  hot  speed. 

The  hammer-handle  had  struck  slantingly  across  my 
forehead,  and  my  head  ached  from  the  blow.  I  abused 
myself  roundly  for  managing  the  encounter  so  stupidly, 
and  in  my  rage  fired  twice  with  no  aim  whatever  after 
the  flying  figure  of  the  caretaker.  He  clearly  had  the 
advantage  of  familiarity  with  the  wood,  striking  off 


1 


Like  a  flash  he  swung  the  hammer,  and  at  the  same  moment  I  fired. 

Page  IOO 


THE    MAN   ON   THE    WALL  101 

boldly  into  the  heart  of  it,  and  quickly  widening  the 
distance  between  us ;  but  I  kept  on,  even  after  I  ceased 
to  hear  him  threshing  through  the  undergrowth,  and 
came  out  presently  at  the  margin  of  the  lake  about  fifty 
feet  from  the  boat-house.  I  waited  in  the  shadow  for 
some  time,  expecting  to  see  the  fellow  again,  but  he  did 
not  appear. 

I  found  the  wall  with  difficulty  and  followed  it  back 
to  the  gate.  It  would  be  just  as  well,  I  thought,  to 
possess  myself  of  the  hammer;  and  I  dropped  down  on 
the  St.  Agatha  side  of  the  wall  and  groped  about  among 
the  leaves  until  I  found  it. 

Then  I  walked  home,  went  into  the  library,  alight 
with  its  many  candles  just  as  I  had  left  it,  and  sat 
down  before  the  fire  to  meditate.  I  had  been  absent 
from  the  house  only  forty-five  minutes. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A   STRING   OF   GOLD   BEADS 

A  moment  later  Bates  entered  with  a  fresh  supply  of 
wood.  I  watched  him  narrowly  for  some  sign  of  per 
turbation,  but  he  was  not  to  be  caught  off  guard.  Pos 
sibly  he  had  not  heard  the  shots  in  the  wood;  at  any 
rate,  he  tended  the  fire  with  his  usual  gravity,  and  after 
brushing  the  hearth  paused  respectfully. 

"Is  there  anything  further,  sir?" 

"I  believe  not,  Bates.  Oh !  here's  a  hammer  I  picked 
up  out  in  the  grounds  a  bit  ago.  I  wish  you'd  see  if  it 
belongs  to  the  house." 

He  examined  the  implement  with  care  and  shook  his 
head. 

"It  doesn't  belong  here,  I  think,  sir.  But  we  some 
times  find  tools  left  by  the  carpenters  that  worked  on 
the  house.  Shall  I  put  this  in  the  tool-chest,  sir  ?" 

"Never  mind.  I  need  such  a  thing  now  and  then  and 
I'll  keep  it  handy." 

"Very  good,  Mr.  Glenarm.  It's  a  bit  sharper  to-night, 
but  we're  likely  to  have  sudden  changes  at  this  season." 

102 


A    STKING-   OF   GOLD   BEADS  103 

"I  dare  say." 

We  were  not  getting  anywhere;  the  fellow  was  cer 
tainly  an  incomparable  actor. 

"You  must  find  it  pretty  lonely  here,  Bates.  Don't 
hesitate  to  go  to  the  village  when  you  like." 

"I  thank  you,  Mr.  Glenarm ;  but  I  am  not  much  for 
idling.  I  keep  a  few  books  by  me  for  the  evenings.  An- 
nandale  is  not  what  you  would  exactly  call  a  diverting 
village." 

"I  fancy  not.  But  the  caretaker  over  at  the  summer 
resort  has  even  a  lonelier  time,  I  suppose.  That's  what 
I'd  call  a  pretty  cheerless  job, — watching  summer  cot 
tages  in  the  winter." 

"That's  Morgan,  sir.  I  meet  him  occasionally  when 
I  go  to  the  village ;  a  very  worthy  person,  I  should  call 
him,  on  slight  acquaintance." 

"No  doubt  of  it,  Bates.  Any  time  through  the  win 
ter  you  want  to  have  him  in  for  a  social  glass,  it's  all 
right  with  me." 

He  met  my  gaze  without  flinching,  and  lighted  me 
to  the  stair  with  our  established  ceremony.  I  voted  him 
an  interesting  knave  and  really  admired  the  cool  way 
in  which  he  carried  off  difficult  situations.  I  had  no 
intention  of  being  killed,  and  now  that  I  had  due  warn 
ing  of  danger,  I  resolved  to  protect  myself  from  foes 
without  and  within.  Both  Bates  and  Morgan,  the  care- 


104    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

taker,  were  liars  of  high  attainment.  Morgan  was, 
moreover,  a  cheerful  scoundrel,  and  experience  taught 
me  long  ago  that  a  knave  with  humor  is  doubly  dan 
gerous. 

Before  going  to  bed  I  wrote  a  long  letter  to  Larry 
Donovan,  giving  him  a  full  account  of  my  arrival  at 
Glenarm  House.  The  thought  of  Larry  always  cheered 
me,  and  as  the  pages  slipped  from  my  pen  I  could  feel 
his  sympathy  and  hear  him  chuckling  over  the  lively  be 
ginning  of  my  year  at  Glenarm.  The  idea  of  being  fired 
upon  by  an  unseen  foe  would,  I  knew,  give  Larry  a  real 
lift  of  the  spirit. 

The  next  morning  I  walked  into  the  village,  mailed 
my  letter,  visited  the  railway  station  with  true  rustic 
instinct  and  watched  the  cutting  out  of  a  freight  car  for 
Annandale  with  a  pleasure  I  had  not  before  taken,  in 
that  proceeding.  The  villagers  stared  at  me  blankly  as 
on  my  first  visit.  A  group  of  idle  laborers  stopped  talk 
ing  to  watch  me ;  and  when  I  was  a  few  yards  past  them 
they  laughed  at  a  remark  by  one  of  the  number  which 
I  could  not  overhear.  But  I  am  not  a  particularly  sen 
sitive  person;  I  did  not  care  what  my  Hoosier  neigh 
bors  said  of  me ;  all  I  asked  was  that  they  should  refrain 
from  shooting  at  the  back  of  my  head  through  the  win 
dows  of  my  own  house. 

On  this  day  I  really  began  to  work.    I  mapped  out 


A    STRING   OP   GOLD   BEADS  105 

a  course  of  reading,  set  up  a  draftsman's  table  I  found 
put  away  in  a  closet,  and  convinced  myself  that  I  was 
beginning  a  year  of  devotion  to  architecture.  Such  was, 
I  felt,  the  only  honest  course.  I  should  work  every  day 
from  eight  until  one,  and  my  leisure  I  should  give  to 
recreation  and  a  search  for  the  motives  that  lay  behind 
the  crafts  and  assaults  of  my  enemies. 

When  I  plunged  into  the  wood  in  the  middle  of  the 
afternoon  it  was  with  the  definite  purpose  of  returning 
to  the  upper  end  of  the  lake  for  an  interview  with  Mor 
gan,  who  had,  so  Bates  informed  me,  a  small  house  back 
of  the  cottages. 

I  took  the  canoe  I  had  chosen  for  my  own  use  from 
the  boat-house  and  paddled  up  the  lake.  The  air  was 
still  warm,  but  the  wind  that  blew  out  of  the  south 
tasted  of  rain.  I  scanned  the  water  and  the  borders  of 
the  lake  for  signs  of  life, — more  particularly,  I  may  as 
well  admit,  for  a  certain  maroon-colored  canoe  and  a 
girl  in  a  red  tam-o'-shanter,  but  lake  and  summer  cot 
tages  were  mine  alone.  I  landed  and  began  at  once  my 
search  for  Morgan.  There  were  many  paths  through 
the  woods  back  of  the  cottages,  and  I  followed  several 
futilely  before  I  at  last  found  a  small  house  snugly 
hid  away  in  a  thicket  of  young  maples. 

The  man  I  was  looking  for  came  to  the  door  quickly 
in  response  to  my  knock. 


106    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"Good  afternoon,  Morgan." 

"Good  afternoon,  Mr.  Glenarm/'  he  said,  taking  the 
pipe  from  his  mouth  the  better  to  grin  at  me.  He 
showed  no  sign  of  surprise,  and  I  was  nettled  by  his  cool 
reception.  There  was,  perhaps,  a  certain  element  of 
recklessness  in  my  visit  to  the  house  of  a  man  who  had 
shown  so  singular  an  interest  in  my  affairs,  and  his  cool 
greeting  vexed  me. 

"Morgan — "  I  began. 

"Won't  you  come  in  and  rest  yourself,  Mr.  Glenarm  ?" 
he  interrupted.  "I  reckon  you're  tired  from  your  trip 
over — " 

"Thank  you,  no,"  I  snapped. 

"Suit  yourself,  Mr.  Glenarm."  He  seemed  to  like  my 
name  and  gave  it  a  disagreeable  drawling  emphasis. 

"Morgan,  you  are  an  infernal  blackguard.  You  have 
tried  twice  to  kill  me — " 

"We'll  call  it  that,  if  you  like," — and  he  grinned. 
"But  you'd  better  cut  off  one  for  this." 

He  lifted  the  gray  fedora  hat  from  his  head,  and 
poked  his  finger  through  a  hole  in  the  top. 

"You're  a  pretty  fair  shot,  Mr.  Glenarm.  The  fact 
about  me  is," — and  he  winked, — "the  honest  truth  is, 
I'm  all  out  of  practice.  Why,  sir,  when  I  saw  you  pad 
dling  out  on  the  lake  this  afternoon  I  sighted  you  from 


A    STRING    OF    GOLD    BEADS  107 

the  casino  half  a  dozen  times  with  my  gun,  but  I  was 
afraid  to  risk  it."  He  seemed  to  be  shaken  with  inner 
mirth.  "If  I'd  missed,  I  wasn't  sure  you'd  be  scared  to 
death !" 

For  a  novel  diversion  I  heartily  recommend  a  meet 
ing  with  the  assassin  who  has,  only  a  few  days  or  hours 
before,  tried  to  murder  you.  I  know  of  nothing  in  the 
way  of  social  adventure  that  is  quite  equal  to  it.  Mor 
gan  was  a  fellow  of  intelligence  and,  whatever  lay  back 
of  his  designs  against  me,  he  was  clearly  a  foe  to  reckon 
with.  He  stood  in  the  doorway  calmly  awaiting  my 
next  move.  I  struck  a  match  on  my  box  and  lighted  a 
cigarette. 

"Morgan,  I  hope  you  understand  that  I  am  not  re 
sponsible  for  any  injury  my  grandfather  may  have  in 
flicted  on  you.  I  hadn't  seen  him  for  several  years  be 
fore  he  died.  I  was  never  at  Glenarm  before  in  my 
life,  so  it's  a  little  rough  for  you  to  visit  your  displeas 
ure  on  me." 

He  smiled  tolerantly  as  I  spoke.  I  knew — and  he 
knew  that  I  did — that  no  ill  feeling  against  my  grand 
father  lay  back  of  his  interest  in  my  affairs. 

"You're  not  quite  the  man  your  grandfather  was,  Mr. 
Glenarm.  You'll  excuse  my  bluntness,  but  I  take  it 
that  you're  a  frank  man.  He  was  a  very  keen  person, 


108    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CAXDLES 

and,  I'm  afraid/' — he  chuckled  with  evident  satisfac 
tion  to  himself, — "I'm  really  afraid,  Mr.  Glenarm,  that 
you're  not !" 

"There  you  have  it,  Morgan !  I  fully  agree  with  you ! 
I'm  as  dull  as  an  oyster;  that's  the  reason  I've  called  on 
you  for  enlightenment.  Consider  that  Fm  here  under  a 
flag  of  truce,  and  let's  see  if  we  can't  come  to  an  agree 
ment." 

"It's  too  late,  Mr.  Glenarm;  too  late.  There  was  a 
time  when  we  might  have  done  some  business ;  but  that's 
past  now.  You  seem  like  a  pretty  decent  fellow,  too, 
and  I'm  sorry  I  didn't  see  you  sooner;  but  better  luck 
next  time." 

He  stroked  his  yellow  beard  reflectively  and  shook  his 
head  a  little  sadly.  He  was  not  a  bad-looking  fellow; 
and  he  expressed  himself  well  enough  with  a  broad  west 
ern  accent. 

"Well,"  I  said,  seeing  that  I  should  only  make  myself 
ridiculous  by  trying  to  learn  anything  from  him,  "I 
hope  our  little  spats  through  windows  and  on  walls  won't 
interfere  with  our  pleasant  social  relations.  And  I  don't 
hesitate  to  tell  you," — I  was  exerting  myself  to  keep 
down  my  anger, — "that  if  I  catch  you  on  my  grounds 
again  I'll  fill  you  with  lead  and  sink  you  in  the  lake." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  he  said,  with  so  perfect  an  imita- 


A    STRING   OF   GOLD   BEADS  109 

tion  of  Bates'  voice  and  manner  that  I  smiled  in  spite 
of  myself. 

"And  now,  if  you'll  promise  not  to  fire  into  my  back 
I'll  wish  you  good  day.  Otherwise — " 

He  snatched  off  his  hat  and  bowed  profoundly.  "It'll 
suit  me  much  better  to  continue  handling  the  case  on 
your  grounds,"  he  said,  as  though  he  referred  to  a 
business  matter.  "Killing  a  man  on  your  own  property 
requires  some  explaining — you  may  have  noticed  it?" 

"Yes;  I  commit  most  of  my  murders  away  from 
home,"  I  said.  "I  formed  the  habit  early  in  life.  Good 
day,  Morgan." 

As  I  turned  away  he  closed  his  door  with  a  slam, — a 
delicate  way  of  assuring  me  that  he  was  acting  in  good 
faith,  and  not  preparing  to  puncture  my  back  with  a 
rifle-ball.  I  regained  the  lake-shore,  feeling  no  great 
discouragement  over  the  lean  results  of  my  interview, 
but  rather  a  fresh  zest  for  the  game,  whatever  the 
game  might  be.  Morgan,  was  not  an  enemy  to  trifle 
with;  he  was,  on  the  other  hand,  a  clever  and  daring 
foe;  and  the  promptness  with  which  he  began  war  on 
me  the  night  of  my  arrival  at  Glenarm  House,  indicated 
that  there  was  method  in  his  hostility. 

The  sun  was  going  his  ruddy  way  beyond  St.  Agatha's 
as  I  drove  my  canoe  into  a  little  cove  near  which  the 


110    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

girl  in  the  tam-o'-shanter  had  disappeared  the  day  be 
fore.  The  shore  was  high  here  and  at  the  crest  was  a 
long  curved  bench  of  stone  reached  by  half  a  dozen 
steps,  from  which  one  might  enjoy  a  wide  view  of  the 
country,  both  across  the  lake  and  directly  inland.  The 
bench  was  a  pretty  bit  of  work,  boldly  reminiscential  of 
Alma  Tadema,  and  as  clearly  the  creation  of  John 
Marshall  Glenarm  as  though  his  name  had  been  carved 
upon  it. 

It  was  assuredly  a  spot  for  a  pipe  and  a  mood,  and 
as  the  shadows  crept  through  the  wood  before  me  and 
the  water,  stirred  by  the  rising  wind,  began  to  beat  be 
low,  I  invoked  the  one  and  yielded  to  the  other.  Some 
thing  in  the  withered  grass  at  my  feet  caught  my  eye. 
I  bent  and  picked  up  a  string  of  gold  beads,  dropped 
there,  no  doubt,  by  some  girl  from  the  school  or  a  care 
less  member  of  the  summer  colony.  I  counted  the  sepa 
rate  beads — they  were  round  and  there  were  fifty  of 
them.  The  proper  length  for  one  turn  about  a  girl's 
throat,  perhaps ;  not  more  than  that !  I  lifted  my  eyes 
and  looked  off  toward  St.  Agatha's. 

"Child  of  the  red  tam-o'-shanter,  I'm  very  sorry  I 
was  rude  to  you  yesterday,  for  I  liked  your  steady  stroke 
with  the  paddle ;  and  I  admired,  even  more,  the  way  you 
spurned  me  when  you  saw  that  among  all  the  cads  in 
the  world  I  am  number  one  in  Class  A.  And  these 


A    STRING   OF   GOLD   BEADS  111 

golden  bubbles  (0  girl  of  the  red  tam-o'-shanter!),  if 
they  are  not  yours  you  shall  help  me  find  the  owner,  for 
we  are  neighbors,  you  and  I,  and  there  must  be  peace 
between  our  houses/' 

With  this  foolishness  I  rose,  thrust  the  beads  into  my 
pocket,  and  paddled  home  in  the  waning  glory  of  the 
sunset. 

That  night,  as  I  was  going  quite  late  to  bed,  bearing 
a  candle  to  light  me  through  the  dark  hall  to  my  room, 
I  heard  a  curious  sound,  as  of  some  one  walking  stealth 
ily  through  the  house.  At  first  I  thought  Bates  was  still 
abroad,  but  I  waited,  listening  for  several  minutes,  with 
out  being  able  to  mark  the  exact  direction  of  the  sound 
or  to  identify  it  with  him.  I  went  on  to  the  door  of  my 
room,  and  still  a  muffled  step  seemed  to  follow  me, — first 
it  had  come  from  below,  then  it  was  much  like  some  one 
going  up  stairs, — but  where?  In  my  own  room  I  still 
heard  steps,  light,  slow,  but  distinct.  Again  there  was  a 
stumble  and  a  hurried  recovery, — ghosts,  I  reflected,  do 
not  fall  down  stairs ! 

The  sound  died  away,  seemingly  in  some  remote  part 
of  the  house,  and  though  I  prowled  about  for  an  hour 
it  did  not  recur  that  night. 


CHAPTEE  IX 

THE  GIRL  AND  THE  RABBIT 

Wind  and  rain  rioted  in  the  wood,  and  occasionally 
both  fell  upon  the  library  windows  with  a  howl  and  a 
splash.  The  tempest  had  wakened  me;  it  seemed  that 
every  chimney  in  the  house  held  a  screaming  demon. 
We  were  now  well-launched  upon  December,  and  I  was 
growing  used  to  my  surroundings.  I  had  offered  my 
self  frequently  as  a  target  by  land  and  water ;  I  had  sat 
on  the  wall  and  tempted  fate;  and  I  had  roamed  the 
house  constantly  expecting  to  surprise  Bates  in  some  act 
of  treachery;  but  the  days  were  passing  monotonously. 
I  saw  nothing  of  Morgan — he  had  gone  to  Chicago  on 
some  errand,  so  Bates  reported — but  I  continued  to  walk 
abroad  every  day,  and  often  at  night,  alert  for  a  reopen 
ing  of  hostilities.  Twice  I  had  seen  the  red  tam-o'- 
shanter  far  through  the  wood,  and  once  I  had  passed  my 
young  acquaintance  with  another  girl,  a  dark,  laughing 
youngster,  walking  in  the  highway,  and  she  had  bowed 
to  me  coldly.  Even  the  ghost  in  the  wall  proved  incon 
stant,  but  I  had  twice  heard  the  steps  without  being  able 
to  account  for  them. 

Memory  kept  plucking  my  sleeve  with  reminders  of 
112 


THE   GIRL   AND   THE   RABBIT         113 

my  grandfather.  I  was  touched  at  finding  constantly 
his  marginal  notes  in  the  books  he  had  collected  with  so 
much  intelligence  and  loving  care.  It  occurred  to  me 
that  some  memorial,  a  tablet  attached  to  the  outer  wall, 
or  perhaps,  more  properly  placed  in  the  chapel,  would 
be  fitting;  and  I  experimented  with  designs  for  it,  cov 
ering  many  sheets  of  drawing-paper  in  an  effort  to  set 
forth  in  a  few  words  some  hint  of  his  character.  On  this 
gray  morning  I  produced  this : 

1835 

fife  of  eJofln  (S*ar00aff  (Bftnatm 
was  a  fesftmong  to  f$e  trirfue  of 

forSearcmce  emo  genffeneaa 
fieatififuf  flings  0e 
t»ere  not  noSfer  f#cm  0ts  otxm 
f)te  grcmteon  (<»3o  Bemfc  0tm  if?) 
«9tifes  f 3ts  of  0tm 

1901 

I  had  drawn  these  words  on  a  piece  of  cardboard  and 
was  studying  them  critically  when  Bates  came  in  with 
wood. 

"Those  are  unmistakable  snowflakes,  sir/'  said  Bates 
from  the  window.  "We're  in  for  winter  now." 

It  was  undeniably  snow;  great  lazy  flakes  of  it  were 
crowding  down  upon  the  wood. 

Bates  had  not  mentioned  Morgan  or  referred  even  re 
motely  to  the  pistol-shot  of  my  first  night,  and  he  had 


114    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

certainly  conducted  himself  as  a  model  servant.  The 
man-of-all-work  at  St.  Agatha's,  a  Scotchman  named 
Ferguson,  had  visited  him  several  times,  and  I  had  sur 
prised  them  once  innocently  enjoying  their  pipes  and 
whisky  and  water  in  the  kitchen. 

"They  are  having  trouble  at  the  school,  sir,"  said 
Bates  from  the  hearth. 

"The  young  ladies  running  a  little  wild,  eh  ?" 

"Sister  Theresa's  ill,  sir.  Ferguson  told  me  last 
night!" 

"No  doubt  Ferguson  knows,"  I  declared,  moving  the 
papers  about  on  my  desk,  conscious,  and  not  ashamed  of 
it,  that  I  enjoyed  these  dialogues  with  Bates.  I  occa 
sionally  entertained  the  idea  that  he  would  some  day 
brain  me  as  I  sat  dining  upon  the  viands  which  he  pre 
pared  with  so  much  skill;  or  perhaps  he  would  poison 
me,  that  being  rather  more  in  his  line  of  business  and 
perfectly  easy  of  accomplishment;  but  the  house  was 
bare  and  lonely  and  he  was  a  resource. 

"So  Sister  Theresa's  ill !"  I  began,  seeing  that  Bates 
had  nearly  finished,  and  glancing  with  something  akin 
to  terror  upon  the  open  pages  of  a  dreary  work  on  Eng 
lish  cathedrals  that  had  put  me  to  sleep  the  day  before. 

"She's  been  quite  uncomfortable,  sir;  but  they  hope 
to  see  her  out  in  a  few  days !" 

"That's  good;  I'm  glad  to  hear  it." 


THE    GIRL   AND   THE   RABBIT         115 

"Yes,  sir.  I  think  we  naturally  feel  interested,  being 
neighbors.  And  Ferguson  says  that  Miss  Devereux's  de 
votion  to  her  aunt  is  quite  touching." 

I  stood  up  straight  and  stared  at  Bates'  back — he  was 
trying  to  stop  the  rattle  which  the  wind  had  set  up  in 
one  of  the  windows. 

"Miss  Devereux !"    I  laughed  outright. 

"That's  the  name,  sir, — rather  odd,  I  should  call  it." 

"Yes,  it  is  rather  odd,"  I  said,  composed  again,  but 
not  referring  to  the  name.  My  mind  was  busy  with  a 
certain  paragraph  in  my  grandfather's  will : 

Should  he  fail  to  comply  with  this  provision,  said  prop 
erty  shall  revert  to  my  general  estate,  and  become,  "with 
out  reservation,  and  without  necessity  for  any  process  of 
law,  the  property,  absolutely,  of  Marian  Devereux,  of  the 
County  and  State  of  New  York. 

"Your  grandfather  was  very  fond  of  her,  sir.  She 
and  Sister  Theresa  were  abroad  at  the  time  he  died.  It 
was  my  sorrowful  duty  to  tell  them  the  sad  news  in  New 
York,  sir,  when  they  landed." 

"The  devil  it  was !"  It  irritated  me  to  remember  that 
Bates  probably  knew  exactly  the  nature  of  my  grand 
father's  will;  and  the  terms  of  it  were  not  in  the  least 
creditable  to  me.  Sister  Theresa  and  her  niece  were 
doubtless  calmly  awaiting  my  failure  to  remain  at 
Glenarm  House  during  the  disciplinary  year, — Sister 


116    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

Theresa,  a  Protestant  nun,  and  the  niece  who  probably 
taught  drawing  in  the  school  for  her  keep !  I  was  sure 
it  was  drawing ;  nothing  else  would,  I  felt,  have  brought 
the  woman  within  the  pale  of  my  grandfather's  benefi 
cence. 

I  had  given  no  thought  to  Sister  Theresa  since  com 
ing  to  Glenarm.  She  had  derived  her  knowledge  of  me 
from  my  grandfather,  and,  such  being  the  case,  she 
would  naturally  look  upon  me  as  a  blackguard  and  a 
menace  to  the  peace  of  the  neighborhood.  I  had,  there 
fore,  kept  rigidly  to  my  own  side  of  the  stone  wall.  A 
suspicion  crossed  my  mind,  marshaling  a  host  of  doubts 
and  questions  that  had  lurked  there  since  my  first  night 
at  Glenarm. 

"Bates!" 

He  was  moving  toward  the  door  with  his  character 
istic  slow  step. 

"If  your  friend  Morgan,  or  any  one  else,  should  shoot 
me,  or  if  I  should  tumble  into  the  lake,  or  otherwise  end 
my  earthly  career — Bates !" 

His  eyes  had  slipped  from  mine  to  the  window  and  I 
spoke  his  name  sharply. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Glenarm." 

"Then  Sister  Theresa's  niece  would  get  this  property 
and  everything  else  that  belonged  to  Mr.  Glenarm." 

"That's  my  understanding  of  the  matter,  sir." 


THE    GIKL   AND    THE    BABBIT         117 

"Morgan,  the  caretaker,  has  tried  to  kill  me  twice 
since  I  came  here.  He  fired  at  me  through  the  window 
the  night  I  came,— Bates !" 

I  waited  for  his  eyes  to  meet  mine  again.  His  hands 
opened  and  shut  several  times,  and  alarm  and  fear  con 
vulsed  his  face  for  a  moment. 

"Bates,  I'm  trying  my  best  to  think  well  of  you ;  but 
I  want  you  to  understand" — I  smote  the  table  with  my 
clenched  hand — "that  if  these  women,  or  your  employer, 
Mr.  Pickering,  or  that  damned  hound,  Morgan,  or  you — 
damn  you,  I  don't  know  who  or  what  you  are! — think 
you  can  scare  me  away  from  here,  you've  waked  up  the 
wrong  man,  and  I'll  tell  you  another  thing, — and  you 
may  repeat  it  to  your  school-teachers  and  to  Mr.  Picker 
ing,  who  pays  you,  and  to  Morgan,  whom  somebody  has 
hired  to  kill  me, — that  I'm  going  to  keep  faith  with  my 
dead  grandfather,  and  that  when  I've  spent  my  year 
here  and  done  what  that  old  man  wished  me  to  do,  I'll 
give  them  this  house  and  every  acre  of  ground  and  every 
damned  dollar  the  estate  carries  with  it.  And  now  one 
other  thing !  I  suppose  there's  a  sheriff  or  some  kind  of 
a  constable  with  jurisdiction  over  this  place,  and  I  could 
have  the  whole  lot  of  you  put  into  jail  for  conspiracy, 
but  I'm  going  to  stand  out  against  you  alone, — do  you 
understand  me,  you  hypocrite,  you  stupid,  slinking  spy  ? 
Answer  me,  quick,  before  I  throw  you  out  of  the  room !" 


118  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

I  had  worked  myself  into  a  great  passion  and  fairly 
roared  my  challenge,  pounding  the  table  in  my  rage. 

"Yes,  sir;  I  quite  understand  you,  sir.  But  I'm 
afraid,  sir — ' 

"Of  course  you're  afraid !''  I  shouted,  enraged  anew 
by  his  halting  speech.  "You  have  every  reason  in  the 
world  to  be  afraid.  You've  probably  heard  that  I'm  a 
bad  lot  and  a  worthless  adventurer;  but  you  can  tell 
Sister  Theresa  or  Pickering  or  anybody  you  please  that 
I'm  ten  times  as  bad  as  I've  ever  been  painted.  Now 
clear  out  of  here !" 

He  left  the  room  without  looking  at  me  again.  Dur 
ing  the  morning  I  strolled  through  the  house  several 
times  to  make  sure  he  had  not  left  it  to  communicate 
with  some  of  his  fellow  plotters,  but  I  was,  I  admit,  dis 
appointed  to  find  him  in  every  instance  busy  at  some 
wholly  proper  task.  Once,  indeed,  I  found  him  clean 
ing  my  storm  boots !  To  find  him  thus  humbly  devoted 
to  my  service  after  the  raking  I  had  given  him  dulled 
the  edge  of  my  anger.  I  went  back  to  the  library  and 
planned  a  cathedral  in  seven  styles  of  architecture,  all 
unrelated  and  impossible,  and  when  this  began  to  bore 
me  I  designed  a  crypt  in  which  the  wicked  should  be 
buried  standing  on  their  heads  and  only  the  very  good 
might  lie  and  sleep  in  peace.  These  diversions  and  sev 
eral  black  cigars  won  me  to  a  more  amiable  mood.  I 


THE    GIEL   AND   THE   EABBIT         119 

felt  better,  on  the  whole,  for  having  announced  myself 
to  the  delectable  Bates,  who  gave  me  for  luncheon  a 
brace  of  quails,  done  in  a  manner  that  stripped  criti 
cism  of  all  weapons. 

We  did  not  exchange  a  word,  and  after  knocking 
about  in  the  library  for  several  hours  I  went  out  for  a 
tramp.  Winter  had  indeed  come  and  possessed  the 
earth,  and  it  had  given  me  a  new  landscape.  The  snow 
continued  to  fall  in  great,  heavy  flakes,  and  the  ground 
was  whitening  fast. 

A  rabbit's  track  caught  my  eye  and  I  followed  it, 
hardly  conscious  that  I  did  so.  Then  the  clear  print  of 
two  small  shoes  mingled  with  the  rabbit's  trail.  A  few 
moments  later  I  picked  up  an  overshoe,  evidently  lost 
in  the  chase  by  one  of  Sister  Theresa's  girls,  I  reflected. 
I  remembered  that  while  at  Tech  I  had  collected  diverse 
memorabilia  from  school-girl  acquaintances,  and  here  I 
was  beginning  a  new  series  with  a  string  of  beads  and  an 
overshoe ! 

A  rabbit  is  always  an  attractive  quarry.  Few  things 
besides  riches  are  so  elusive,  and  the  little  fellows  have, 
I  am  sure,  a  shrewd  humor  peculiar  to  themselves.  I 
rather  envied  the  school-girl  who  had  ventured  forth  for 
a  run  in  the  first  snow-storm  of  the  season.  I  recalled 
Aldrich's  turn  on  Gautier's  lines  as  I  followed  the 
double  trail : 


120     THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"Howe'er  you  tread,  a  tiny  mould 

Betrays  that  light  foot  all  the  same; 
Upon  this  glistening,  snowy  fold 
At  every  step  it  signs  your  name." 

A  pretty  autograph,  indeed!  The  snow  fell  steadily 
and  I  tramped  on  over  the  joint  signature  of  the  girl 
and  the  rabbit.  Near  the  lake  they  parted  company.,  the 
rabbit  leading  off  at  a  tangent,  on  a  line  parallel  with 
the  lake,  while  his  pursuer's  steps  pointed  toward  the 
boat-house. 

There  was,  so  far  as  I  knew,  only  one  student  of  ad 
venturous  blood  at  St.  Agatha's,  and  I  was  not  in  the 
least  surprised  to  see,  on  the  little  sheltered  balcony  of 
the  boat-house,  the  red  tam-o'-shanter.  She  wore,  too, 
the  covert  coat  I  remembered  from  the  day  I  saw  her 
first  from  the  wall.  Her  back  was  toward  me  as  I  drew 
near;  her  hands  were  thrust  into  her  pockets.  She  was 
evidently  enjoying  the  soft  mingling  of  the  snow  with 
the  still,  blue  waters  of  the  lake,  and  a  girl  and  a  snow 
storm  are,  if  you  ask  my  opinion,  a  pretty  combination. 
The  fact  of  a  girl's  facing  a  winter  storm  argues 
mightily  in  her  favor, — testifies,  if  you  will  allow  me, 
to  a  serene  and  dauntless  spirit,  for  one  thing,  and  a 
sound  constitution,  for  another. 

I  ran  up  the  steps,  my  cap  in  one  hand,  her  overshoe 


THE    GIKL   AND   THE   EABBIT         121 

in  the  other.  She  drew  back  a  trifle,  just  enough  to 
bring  my  conscience  to  its  knees. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  listen  that  day.  I  just  happened 
to  be  on  the  wall  and  it  was  a  thoroughly  underbred 
trick — my  twitting  you  about  it — and  I  should  have  told 
you  before  if  I'd  known  how  to  see  you — " 

"May  I  trouble  you  for  that  shoe?"  she  said  with  a 
great  deal  of  dignity. 

They  taught  that  cold  disdain  of  man,  I  supposed,  as 
a  required  study  at  St.  Agatha's. 

"Oh,  certainly !    Won't  you  allow  me  ?" 

"Thank  you,  no !" 

I  was  relieved,  to  tell  the  truth,  for  I  had  been  out  of 
the  world  for  most  of  that  period  in  which  a  youngster 
perfects  himself  in  such  graces  as  the  putting  on  of  a 
girl's  overshoes.  She  took  the  damp  bit  of  rubber — a 
wet  overshoe,  even  if  small  and  hallowed  by  associations, 
isn't  pretty — as  Venus  might  have  received  a  soft-shell 
crab  from  the  hand  of  a  fresh  young  merman.  I  was 
between  her  and  the  steps  to  which  her  eyes  turned  long 
ingly- 

"Of  course,  if  you  won't  accept  my  apology  I  can't 
do  anything  about  it;  but  I  hope  you  understand  that 
I'm  sincere  and  humble,  and  anxious  to  be  forgiven." 

"You  seem  to  be  making  a  good  deal  of  a  small  mat 
ter—" 


122    THE  HOUSE  OP  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"I  wasn't  referring  to  the  overshoe !"  I  said. 

She  did  not  relent. 

"If  you'll  only  go  away — " 

She  rested  one  hand  against  the  corner  of  the  boat- 
house  while  she  put  on  the  overshoe.  She  wore,  I  no 
ticed,  brown  gloves  with  cuffs. 

"How  can  I  go  away !  You  children  are  always  leav 
ing  things  about  for  me  to  pick  up.  I'm  perfectly  worn 
out  carrying  some  girl's  beads  about  with  me;  and  I 
spoiled  a  good  glove  on  your  overshoe." 

"I'll  relieve  you  of  the  beads,  too,  if  you  please." 
And  her  tone  measurably  reduced  my  stature. 

She  thrust  her  hands  into  the  pockets  of  her  coat  and 
shook  the  tam-o'-shanter  slightly,  to  establish  it  in  a 
more  comfortable  spot  on  her  head.  The  beads  had  been 
in  my  corduroy  coat  since  I  found  them.  I  drew  them 
out  and  gave  them  to  her. 

"Thank  you ;  thank  you  very  much." 

"Of  course  they  are  yours,  Miss — " 

She  thrust  them  into  her  pocket. 

"Of  course  they're  mine,"  she  said  indignantly,  and 
turned  to  go. 

"We'll  waive  proof  of  property  and  that  sort  of  thing," 
I  remarked,  with,  I  fear,  the  hope  of  detaining  her. 
"I'm  sorry  not  to  establish  a  more  neighborly  feeling 
with  St.  Agatha's.  The  stone  wall  may  seem  formi- 


THE    GIRL   AND   THE   RABBIT         123 

dable,  but  it's  not  of  my  building.  I  must  open  the  gate. 
That  wall's  a  trifle  steep  for  climbing." 

I  was  amusing  myself  with  the  idea  that  my  identity 
was  a  dark  mystery  to  her.  I  had  read  English  novels 
in  which  the  young  lord  of  the  manor  is  always  mis 
taken  for  the  game-keeper's  son  by  the  pretty  daughter 
of  the  curate  who  has  come  home  from  school  to  be  the 
belle  of  the  county.  But  my  lady  of  the  red  tam-o'- 
shanter  was  not  a  creature  of  illusions. 

"It  serves  a  very  good  purpose — the  wall,  I  mean — 
Mr.  Glenarm." 

She  was  walking  down  the  steps  and  I  followed.  I 
am  not  a  man  to  suffer  a  lost  school-girl  to  cross  my 
lands  unattended  in  a  snow-storm;  and  the  piazza  of  a 
boat-house  is  not,  I  submit,  a  pleasant  loafmg-place  on 
a  winter  day.  She  marched  before  me,  her  hands  in  her 
pockets — I  liked  her  particularly  that  way — with  an 
easy  swing  and  a  light  and  certain  step.  Her  remark 
about  the  wall  did  not  encourage  further  conversation 
and  I  fell  back  upon  the  poets. 

"Stone  walls  do  not  a  prison  make, 
Nor  iron  bars  a  cage," 

I  quoted.  Quoting  poetry  in  a  snow-storm  while  you 
stumble  through  a  woodland  behind  a  girl  who  shows 
no  interest  in  either  your  prose  or  your  rhymes  has  its 


124  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

embarrassments,  particularly  when  you  are  breathing  a 
trifle  hard  from  the  swift  pace  your  auditor  is  leading 
you. 

"I  have  heard  that  before/'  she  said,  half -turning  her 
face,  then  laughing  as  she  hastened  on. 

Her  brilliant  cheeks  were  a  delight  to  the  eye.  The 
snow  swirled  about  her,  whitened  the  crown  of  her  red 
cap  and  clung  to  her  shoulders.  Have  you  ever  seen 
snow-crystals  gleam,  break,  dissolve  in  fair,  soft,  storm- 
blown  hair?  Do  you  know  how  a  man  will  pledge  his 
soul  that  a  particular  flake  will  never  fade,  never  cease 
to  rest  upon  a  certain  flying  strand  over  a  girlish  tem 
ple?  And  he  loses — his  heart  and  his  wager — in  a 
breath !  If  you  fail  to  understand  these  things,  and  are 
furthermore  unfamiliar  with  the  fact  that  the  color  in 
the  cheeks  of  a  girl  who  walks  abroad  in  a  driving  snow 
storm  marks  the  favor  of  Heaven  itself,  then  I  waste 
time,  and  you  will  do  well  to  rap  at  the  door  of  another 
inn. 

"I'd  rather  missed  you,"  I  said ;  "and,  really,  I  should 
have  been  over  to  apologize  if  I  hadn't  been  afraid." 

"Sister  Theresa  is  rather  fierce,"  she  declared.  "And 
we're  not  allowed  to  receive  gentlemen  callers, — it  says 
so  in  the  catalogue." 

"So  I  imagined.  I  trust  Sister  Theresa  is  improv 
ing." 


She  marched  before  me,  her  hands  in  her  pockets.         Page  I2J 


THE    GIRL   AND   THE   RABBIT         125 

"Yes;  thank  you." 

"And  Miss  Devereux, — she  is  quite  well,  I  hope  ?" 

She  turned  her  head  as  though  to  listen,  more  care 
fully,  and  her  step  slackened  for  a  moment;  then  she 
hurried  blithely  forward. 

"Oh,  she's  always  well,  I  believe." 

"You  know  her,  of  course/' 

"Oh,  rather !    She  gives  us  music  lessons." 

"So  Miss  Devereux  is  the  music-teacher,  is  she? 
Should  you  call  her  a  popular  teacher  ?" 

"The  girls  call  her" — she  seemed  moved  to  mirth  by 
the  recollection — "Miss  Prim  and  Prosy." 

"Ugh !"  I  exclaimed  sympathetically.  "Tall  and  hun 
gry-looking,  with  long  talons  that  pound  the  keys  with 
grim  delight.  I  know  the  sort." 

"She's  a  sight !" — and  my  guide  laughed  approvingly. 
"But  we  have  to  take  her ;  she's  part  of  the  treatment." 

"You  speak  of  St.  Agatha's  as  though  it  were  a  sana 
torium." 

"Oh,  it's  not  so  bad !    I've  seen  worse." 

"Where  do  most  of  the  students  come  from, — all  what 
you  call  Hoosiers  ?" 

"Oh,  no!  They're  from  all  over — Cincinnati,  Chi 
cago,  Cleveland,  Indianapolis." 

"What  the  magazines  call  the  Middle  West." 

"I  believe  that  is  so.    The  bishop  addressed  us  once 


126  THE  HOUSE  OP  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

as  the  flower  of  the  Middle  West,  and  made  us  really 
wish  he'd  come  again." 

We  were  approaching  the  gate.  Her  indifference  to 
the  storm  delighted  me.  Here,  I  thought  in  my  admira 
tion,  is  a  real  product  of  the  western  world.  I  felt  that 
we  had  made  strides  toward  such  a  comradeship  as  it  is 
proper  should  exist  between  a  school-girl  in  her  teens 
and  a  male  neighbor  of  twenty-seven.  I  was — going 
back  to  English  fiction — the  young  squire  walking  home 
with  the  curate's  pretty  young  daughter  and  conversing 
with  fine  condescension. 

"We  girls  all  wish  we  could  come  over  and  help  hunt 
the  lost  treasure.  It  must  be  simply  splendid  to  live  in 
a  house  where  there's  a  mystery, — secret  passages  and 
chests  of  doubloons  and  all  that  sort  of  thing!  My  I 
Squire  Glenarm,  I  suppose  you  spend  all  your  nights  ex 
ploring  secret  passages." 

This  free  expression  of  opinion  startled  me,  though 
she  seemed  wholly  innocent  of  impertinence. 

"Who  says  there's  any  secret  about  the  house  ?"  I  de 
manded. 

"Oh,  Ferguson,  the  gardener,  and  all  the  girls !" 

"I  fear  Ferguson  is  drawing  on  his  imagination." 

"Well,  all  the  people  in  the  village  think  so.  I've 
heard  the  candy-shop  woman  speak  of  it  often." 

"She'd  better  attend  to  her  taffy,"  I  retorted. 


THE    GIKL   AND    THE    EABBIT         127 

"Oh,  you  mustn't  be  sensitive  about  it !  All  us  girls 
think  it  ever  so  romantic,  and  we  call  you  sometimes  the 
lord  of  the  realm,  and  when  we  see  you  walking  through 
the  darkling  wood  at  evenfall  we  say,  'My  lord  is  brood 
ing  upon  the  treasure  chests/  " 

This,  delivered  in  the  stilted  tone  of  one  who  is  half- 
quoting  and  half-improvising,  was  irresistibly  funny, 
and  I  laughed  with  good  will. 

"I  hope  you've  forgiven  me — "  I  began,  kicking  the 
gate  to  knock  off  the  snow,  and  taking  the  key  from  my 
pocket. 

"But  I  haven't,  Mr.  Glenarm.  Your  assumption  is, 
to  say  the  least,  unwarranted, — I  got  that  from  a  book !" 

"It  isn't  fair  for  you  to  know  my  name  and  for  me  not 
to  know  yours,"  I  said  leadingly. 

"You  are  perfectly  right.  You  are  Mr.  John  Glen- 
arm — the  gardener  told  me — and  I  am  just  Olivia. 
They  don't  allow  me  to  be  called  Miss  yet.  I'm  very 
young,  sir !" 

"You've  only  told  me  half," — and  I  kept  my  hand  on 
the  closed  gate.  The  snow  still  fell  steadily  and  the 
short  afternoon  was  nearing  its  close.  I  did  not  like  to 
lose  her, — the  life,  the  youth,  the  mirth  for  which  she 
stood.  The  thought  of  Glenarm  House  amid  the  snow- 
hung  wood  and  of  the  long  winter  evening  that  I  must 
spend  alone  moved  me  to  delay.  Lights  already  gleamed 


128  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

in  the  school-buildings  straight  before  us  and  the  sight 
of  them  smote  me  with  loneliness. 

"Olivia  Gladys  Armstrong,"  she  said,  laughing, 
brushed  past  me  through  the  gate  and  ran  lightly  over 
the  snow  toward  St.  Agatha's. 


CHAPTER  X 

AN  AFFAIR  WITH  THE  CARETAKER 

I  read  in  the  library  until  late,  hearing  the  howl  of 
the  wind  outside  with  satisfaction  in  the  warmth  and 
comfort  of  the  great  room.  Bates  brought  in  some  sand 
wiches  and  a  bottle  of  ale  at  midnight. 

"If  there's  nothing  more,  sir — " 

"That  is  all,  Bates."  And  he  went  off  sedately  to  his 
own  quarters. 

I  was  restless  and  in  no  mood  for  bed  and  mourned 
the  lack  of  variety  in  my  grandfather's  library.  I  moved 
about  from  shelf  to  shelf,  taking  down  one  book  after 
another,  and  while  thus  engaged  came  upon  a  series  of 
large  volumes  extra-illustrated  in  water-colors  of  un 
usual  beauty.  They  occupied  a  lower  shelf,  and  I 
sprawled  on  the  floor,  like  a  boy  with  a  new  picture-book, 
in  my  absorption,  piling  the  great  volumes  about  me. 
They  were  on  related  subjects  pertaining  to  the  French 
chateaux. 

In  the  last  volume  I  found  a  sheet  of  white  note- 
paper  no  larger  than  my  hand,  a  forgotten  book-mark, 

129 


130  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

I  assumed,  and  half -crumpled  it  in  my  fingers  before  I 
noticed  the  lines  of  a  pencil  sketch  on  one  side  of  it.  I 
carried  it  to  the  table  and  spread  it  out. 

It  was  not  the  bit  of  idle  penciling  it  had  appeared 
to  be  at  first  sight.  A  scale  had  evidently  been  followed 
and  the  lines  drawn  with  a  ruler.  With  such  trifles  my 
grandfather  had  no  doubt  amused  himself.  There  was 
a  long  corridor  indicated,  but  of  this  I  could  make  noth 
ing.  I  studied  it  for  several  minutes,  thinking  it  might 
have  been  a  tentative  sketch  of  some  part  of  the  house. 
In  turning  it  about  under  the  candelabrum  I  saw  that 
in  several  places  the  glaze  had  been  rubbed  from  the 
paper  by  an  eraser,  and  this  piqued  my  curiosity.  I 
brought  a  magnifying  glass  to  bear  upon  the  sketch. 
The  drawing  had  been  made  with  a  hard  pencil  and  the 
eraser  had  removed  the  lead,  but  a  well-defined  imprint 
remained. 

I  was  able  to  make  out  the  letters  N.  W.  %  to  C. — 
a  reference  clearly  enough  to  points  of  the  compass  and 
a  distance.  The  word  ravine  was  scrawled  over  a  rough 
outline  of  a  doorway  or  opening  of  some  sort,  and  then 
the  phrase: 

THE  DOOR  OF  BEWILDERMENT 

Now  I  am  rather  an  imaginative  person ;  that  is  why 
engineering  captured  my  fancy.  It  was  through  his  try- 


AN   AFFAIR   WITH   THE    CARETAKER    131 

ing  to  make  an  architect  (a  person  who  quarrels  with 
women  about  their  kitchen  sinks !)  of  a  boy  who  wanted 
to  be  an  engineer  that  my  grandfather  and  I  failed  to  hit 
it  off.  From  boyhood  I  have  never  seen  a  great  bridge  or 
watched  a  locomotive  climb  a  difficult  hillside  without 
a  thrill;  and  a  lighthouse  still  seems  to  me  quite  the 
finest  monument  a  man  can  build  for  himself.  My 
grandfather's  devotion  to  old  churches  and  medieval 
houses  always  struck  me  as  trifling  and  unworthy  of  a 
grown  man.  And  fate  was  busy  with  my  affairs  that 
night,  for,  instead  of  lighting  my  pipe  with  the  little 
sketch,  I  was  strangely  impelled  to  study  it  seriously. 

I  drew  for  myself  rough  outlines  of  the  interior  of 
Glenarm  House  as  it  had  appeared  to  me,  and  then  I 
tried  to  reconcile  the  little  sketch  with  every  part  of 
it. 

"The  Door  of  Bewilderment"  was  the  charm  that  held 
me.  The  phrase  was  in  itself  a  lure.  The  man  who  had 
built  a  preposterous  house  in  the  woods  of  Indiana  and 
called  it  "The  House  of  a  Thousand  Candles"  was  quite 
capable  of  other  whims ;  and  as  I  bent  over  this  scrap  of 
paper  in  the  candle-lighted  library  it  occurred  to  me 
that  possibly  I  had  not  done  justice  to  my  grandfather's 
genius.  My  curiosity  was  thoroughly  aroused  as  to  the 
hidden  corners  of  the  queer  old  house,  round  which  the 
wind  shrieked  tormentingly. 


132    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CAXDLES 

I  went  to  my  room,  put  on  my  corduroy  coat  for  its 
greater  warmth  in  going  through  the  cold  halls,  took  a 
candle  and  went  below.  One  o'clock  in  the  morning  is 
not  the  most  cheering  hour  for  exploring  the  dark  re 
cesses  of  a  strange  house,  but  I  had  resolved  to  have  a 
look  at  the  ravine-opening  and  determine,  if  possible, 
whether  it  bore  any  relation  to  "The  Door  of  Bewilder 
ment." 

All  was  quiet  in  the  great  cellar ;  only  here  and  there 
an  area  window  rattled  dolorously.  I  carried  a  tape- 
line  with  me  and  made  measurements  of  the  length  and 
depth  of  the  corridor  and  of  the  chambers  that  were  set 
off  from  it.  These  figures  I  entered  in  my  note-book  for 
further  use,  and  sat  down  on  an  empty  nail-keg  to  re 
flect.  The  place  was  certainly  substantial;  the  candle 
at  my  feet  burned  steadily  with  no  hint  of  a  draft ;  but 
I  saw  no  solution  of  my  problem.  All  the  doors  along 
the  corridor  were  open,  or  yielded  readily  to  my  hand. 
I  was  losing  sleep  for  nothing;  my  grandfather's  sketch 
was  meaningless,  and  I  rose  and  picked  up  my  candle, 
yawning. 

Then  a  curious  thing  happened.  The  candle,  whose 
thin  flame  had  risen  unwaveringly,  sputtered  and  went 
out  as  a  sudden  gust  swept  the  corridor. 

I  had  left  nothing  open  behind  me,  and  the  outer 


AN   AFFAIR   WITH   THE    CARETAKER    133 

doors  of  the  house  were  always  locked  and  barred.  But 
some  one  had  gained  ingress  to  the  cellar  by  an  opening 
of  which  I  knew  nothing. 

I  faced  the  stairway  that  led  up  to  the  back  hall  of  the 
house,  when  to  my  astonishment,  steps  sounded  behind 
me  and,  turning,  I  saw,  coming  toward  me,  a  man  carry 
ing  a  lantern.  I  marked  his  careless  step;  he  was  un 
doubtedly  on  familiar  ground.  As  I  watched  him  he 
paused,  lifted  the  lantern  to  a  level  with  his  eyes  and 
began  sounding  the  wall  with  a  hammer. 

Here,  undoubtedly,  was  my  friend  Morgan, — again! 
There  was  the  same  periodicity  in  the  beat  on  the  wall 
that  I  had  heard  in  my  own  rooms.  He  began  at  the 
top  and  went  methodically  to  the  floor.  I  leaned 
against  the  wall  where  I  stood  and  watched  the  lantern 
slowly  coming  toward  me.  The  small  revolver  with 
which  I  had  fired  at  his  flying  figure  in  the  wood  was  in 
my  pocket.  It  was  just  as  well  to  have  it  out  with  the 
fellow  now.  My  chances  were  as  good  as  his,  though  I 
confess  I  did  not  relish  the  thought  of  being  found  dead 
the  next  morning  in  the  cellar  of  my  own  house.  It 
pleased  my  humor  to  let  him  approach  in  this  way,  un 
conscious  that  he  was  watched,  until  I  should  thrust  my 
pistol  into  his  face. 

His  arms  grew  tired  when  he  was  about  ten  feet  from 


134  THE  HOUSE  OP  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

me  and  he  dropped  the  lantern  and  hammer  to  his  side, 
and  swore  under  his  hreath  impatiently. 

Then  he  began  again,  with  greater  zeal.  As  he  came 
nearer  I  studied  his  face  in  the  lantern's  light  with  in 
terest.  His  hat  was  thrust  back,  and  I  could  see  his  jaw 

hard-set  under  his  blond  beard. 

\ 

He  took  a  step  nearer,  ran  his  eyes  over  the  wall  and 
resumed  his  tapping.  The  ceiling  was  something  less 
than  eight  feet,  and  he  began  at  the  top.  In  settling 
himself  for  the  new  series  of  strokes  he  swayed  toward 
me  slightly,  and  I  could  hear  his  hard  breathing.  I  was 
deliberating  how  best  to  throw  myself  upon  him,  but  as 
I  wavered  he  stepped  back,  swore  at  his  ill-luck  and 
flung  the  hammer  to  the  ground. 

"Thanks !"  I  shouted,  leaping  forward  and  snatching 
the  lantern.  "Stand  just  where  you  are !" 

With  the  revolver  in  my  right  hand  and  the  lantern 
held  high  in  my  left,  I  enjoyed  his  utter  consternation, 
as  my  voice  roared  in  the  corridor. 

"It's  too  bad  we  meet  under  such  strange  circum 
stances,  Morgan,"  I  said.  "I'd  begun  to  miss  you;  but 
I  suppose  you've  been  sleeping  in  the  daytime  to  gather 
strength  for  }"our  night  prowling." 

"You're  a  fool,"  he  growled.  He  was  recovering  from 
his  fright, — I  knew  it  by  the  gleam  of  his  teeth  in  his 


AN   AFFAIR   WITH   THE    CARETAKER    135 

yellow  beard.  His  eyes,  too,  were  moving  restlessly 
about.  He  undoubtedly  knew  the  house  better  than  I 
did,  and  was  considering  the  best  means  of  escape.  I 
did  not  know  what  to  do  with  him  now  that  I  had  him 
at  the  point  of  a  pistol ;  and  in  my  ignorance  of  his  mo 
tives  and  my  vague  surmise  as  to  the  agency  back  of 
him,  I  was  filled  with  uncertainty. 

"You  needn't  hold  that  thing  quite  so  near,"  he  said, 
staring  at  me  coolly. 

"I'm  glad  it  annoys  you,  Morgan,"  I  said.  "It  may 
help  you  to  answer  some  questions  I'm  going  to  put  to 
you." 

"So  you  want  information,  do  you,  Mr.  Glenarm?  I 
should  think  it  would  be  beneath  the  dignity  of  a  great 
man  like  you  to  ask  a  poor  devil  like  me  for  help." 

"We're  not  talking  of  dignity,"  I  said.  "I  want  you 
to  tell  me  how  you  got  in  here." 

He  laughed. 

"You're  a  very  shrewd  one,  Mr.  Glenarm.  I  came  in 
by  the  kitchen  window,  if  you  must  know.  I  got  in  be 
fore  your  solemn  jack-of-all-trades  locked  up,  and  I 
walked  down  to  the  end  of  the  passage  there" — he  in 
dicated  the  direction  with  a  slight  jerk  of  his  head — 
"and  slept  until  it  was  time  to  go  to  work.  You  can 
see  how  easy  it  was !" 


136    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

I  laughed  now  at  the  sheer  assurance  of  the  fellow. 

"If  you  can't  lie  better  than  that  you  needn't  try 
again.  Face  about  now,  and  march !" 

I  put  new  energy  into  my  tone,  and  he  turned  and 
walked  before  me  down  the  corridor  in  the  direction 
from  which  he  had  come.  We  were,  I  dare  say,  a  pretty 
pair, — he  tramping  doggedly  before  me,  I  following  at 
his  heels  with  his  lantern  and  my  pistol.  The  situation 
had  played  prettily  into  my  hands,  and  I  had  every  in 
tention  of  wresting  from  him  the  reason  for  his  interest 
in  Glenarm  House  and  my  affairs. 

"Not  so  fast,"  I  admonished  sharply. 

"Excuse  me,"  he  replied  mockingly. 

He  was  no  common  rogue;  I  felt  the  quality  in  him 
with  a  certain  admiration  for  his  scoundrelly  talents — 
a  fellow,  I  reflected,  who  was  best  studied  at  the  point 
of  a  pistol. 

I  continued  at  his  heels,  and  poked  the  muzzle  of  the 
revolver  against  his  back  from  time  to  time  to  keep  him 
assured  of  my  presence, — a  device  that  I  was  to  regret  a 
second  later. 

We  were  about  ten  yards  from  the  end  of  the  corridor 
when  he  flung  himself  backward  upon  me,  threw  his 
arms  over  his  head  and  seized  me  about  the  neck,  turn 
ing  himself  lithely  until  his  fingers  clasped  my  throat. 

I  fired  blindly  once,  and  felt  the  smoke  of  the  re- 


AN   AFFAIR   WITH   THE    CARETAKER    137 

volver  hot  in  my  own  nostrils.  The  lantern  fell  from 
my  hand,  and  one  or  the  other  of  us  smashed  it  with  our 
feet. 

A  wrestling  match  in  that  dark  hole  was  not  to  my 
liking.  I  still  held  on  to  the  revolver,  waiting  for  a 
chance  to  use  it,  and  meanwhile  he  tried  to  throw  me, 
forcing  me  back  against  one  side  and  then  the  other  of 
the  passage. 

With  a  quick  rush  he  flung  me  away,  and  in  the  same 
second  I  fired.  The  roar  of  the  shot  in  the  narrow  cor 
ridor  seemed  interminable.  I  flung  myself  on  the  floor, 
expecting  a  return  shot,  and  quickly  enough  a  flash  broke 
upon  the  darkness  dead  ahead,  and  I  rose  to  my  feet, 
fired  again  and  leaped  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  corridor 
and  crouched  there.  We  had  adopted  the  same  tactics, 
firing  and  dodging  to  avoid  the  target  made  by  the  flash 
of  our  pistols,  and  watching  and  listening  after  the  roar 
of  the  explosions.  It  was  a  very  pretty  game,  but  des 
tined  not  to  last  long.  He  was  slowly  retreating  toward 
the  end  of  the  passage,  where  there  was,  I  remembered, 
a  dead  wall.  His  only  chance  was  to  crawl  through  an 
area  window  I  knew  to  be  there,  and  this  would,  I  felt 
sure,  give  him  into  my  hands. 

After  five  shots  apiece  there  was  a  truce.  The  pungent 
smoke  of  the  powder  caused  me  to  cough,  and  he 
laughed. 


138    THE  HOUSE  OP  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"Have  you  swallowed  a  bullet,  Mr.  Glenarm?"  he 
called. 

I  could  hear  his  feet  scraping  on  the  cement  floor; 
he  was  moving  away  from  me,  doubtless  intending  to 
fire  when  he  reached  the  area  window  and  escape  before 
I  could  reach  him.  I  crept  warily  after  him,  ready  to 
fire  on  the  instant,  but  not  wishing  to  throw  away  my 
last  cartridge.  That  I  resolved  to  keep  for  close  quar 
ters  at  the  window. 

He  was  now  very  near  the  end  of  the  corridor;  I 
heard  his  feet  strike  some  boards  that  I  remembered 
lay  on  the  floor  there,  and  I  was  nerved  for  a  shot  and 
a  hand-to-hand  struggle,  if  it  came  to  that. 

I  was  sure  that  he  sought  the  window;  I  heard  his 
hands  on  the  wall  as  he  felt  for  it.  Then  a  breath  of 
cold  air  swept  the  passage,  and  I  knew  he  must  be 
drawing  himself  up  to  the  opening.  I  fired  and  dropped 
to  the  floor.  With  the  roar  of  the  explosion  I  heard 
him  yell,  but  the  expected  return  shot  did  not  follow. 

The  pounding  of  my  heart  seemed  to  mark  the  pass 
ing  of  hours.  I  feared  that  my  foe  was  playing  some 
trick,  creeping  toward  me,  perhaps,  to  fire  at  close 
range,  or  to  grapple  with  me  in  the  dark.  The  cold  air 
still  whistled  into  the  corridor,  and  I  began  to  feel  the 
chill  of  it.  Being  fired  upon  is  disagreeable  enough, 
but  waiting  in  the  dark  for  the  shot  is  worse. 


AN   AFFAIR   WITH   THE    CARETAKER    139 

I  rose  and  walked  toward  the  end  of  the  passage. 

Then  his  revolver  flashed  and  roared  directly  ahead, 
the  flame  of  it  so  near  that  it  blinded  me.  I  fell  for 
ward  confused  and  stunned,  but  shook  myself  together 
in  a  moment  and  got  upon  my  feet.  The  draft  of  air 
no  longer  blew  into  the  passage.  Morgan  had  taken 
himself  off  through  the  window  and  closed  it  after  him. 
I  made  sure  of  this  by  going  to  the  window  and  feeling 
of  it  with  my  hands. 

I  went  back  and  groped  about  for  my  candle,  which 
I  found  without  difficulty  and  lighted.  I  then  returned 
to  the  window  to  examine  the  catch.  To  my  utter  as 
tonishment  it  was  fastened  with  staples,  driven  deep 
into  the  sash,  in  such  way  that  it  could  not  possibly 
have  been  opened  without  the  aid  of  tools.  I  tried  it 
at  every  point.  Not  only  was  it  securely  fastened,  but 
it  could  not  possibly  be  opened  without  an  expenditure 
of  time  and  labor. 

There  was  no  doubt  whatever  that  Morgan  knew 
more  about  Glenarm  House  than  I  did.  It  was  possi 
ble,  but  not  likely,  that  he  had  crept  past  me  in  the  cor 
ridor  and  gone  out  through  the  house,  or  by  some  other 
cellar  window.  My  eyes  were  smarting  from  the  smoke 
of  the  last  shot,  and  my  cheek  stung  where  the  burnt 
powder  had  struck  my  face.  I  was  alive,  but  in  my  vexa- 


140    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

tion  and  perplexity  not,  I  fear,  grateful  for  my  safety. 
It  was,  however,  some  consolation  to  feel  sure  I  had 
winged  the  enemy. 

I  gathered  up  the  fragments  of  Morgan's  lantern  and 
went  back  to  the  library.  The  lights  in  half  the  candle 
sticks  had  sputtered  out.  I  extinguished  the  remainder 
and  started  to  my  room. 

Then,  in  the  great  dark  hall,  I  heard  a  muffled  tread 
as  of  some  one  following  me, — not  on  the  great  stair 
case,  nor  in  any  place  I  could  identify, — yet  unmistak 
ably  on  steps  of  some  sort  beneath  or  above  me.  My 
nerves  were  already  keyed  to  a  breaking  pitch,  and  the 
ghost-like  tread  in  the  hall  angered  me — Morgan,  or  his 
ally,  Bates,  I  reflected,  at  some  new  trick.  I  ran  into  my 
room,  found  a  heavy  walking-stick  and  set  off  for  Bates' 
room  on  the  third  floor.  It  was  always  easy  to  attribute 
any  sort  of  mischief  to  the  fellow,  and  undoubtedly  he 
was  crawling  through  the  house  somewhere  on  an  errand 
that  boded  no  good  to  me. 

It  was  now  past  two  o'clock  and  he  should  have  been 
asleep  and  out  of  the  way  long  ago.  I  crept  to  his  room 
and  threw  open  the  door  without,  I  must  say,  the  slight 
est  idea  of  finding  him  there.  But  Bates,  the  enigma, 
Bates,  the  incomparable  cook,  the  perfect  servant,  sat  at 
a  table,  the  light  of  several  candles  falling  on  a  book 


AN   AFFAIR   WITH   THE    CARETAKER    141 

over  which  he  was  bent  with  that  maddening  gravity 
he  had  never  yet  in  my  presence  thrown  off. 

He  rose  at  once,  stood  at  attention,  inclining  his  head 
slightly. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Glenarm." 

"Yes,  the  devil!"  I  roared  at  him,  astonished  at 
finding  him, — sorry,  I  must  say,  that  he  was  there.  The 
stick  fell  from  my  hands.  I  did  not  doubt  he  knew 
perfectly  well  that  I  had  some  purpose  in  breaking  in 
upon  him.  I  was  baffled  and  in  my  rage  floundered 
for  words  to  explain  myself. 

"I  thought  I  heard  some  one  in  the  house.  I  don't 
want  you  prowling  about  in  the  night,  do  you  hear  ?" 

"Certainly  not,  sir,"  he  replied  in  a  grieved  tone. 

I  glanced  at  the  book  he  had  been  reading.  It  was  a 
volume  of  Shakespeare's  comedies,  open  at  the  first 
scene  of  the  last  act  of  The  Winter's  Tale. 

"Quite  a  pretty  bit  of  work  that,  I  should  say,"  he 
remarked.  "It  was  one  of  my  late  master's  favorites." 

"Go  to  the  devil !"  I  bawled  at  him,  and  went  down 
to  my  room  and  slammed  the  door  in  rage  and  chagrin. 


CHAPTER   XI 

I  RECEIVE  A  CALLER 

Going  to  bed  at  three  o'clock  on  a  winter  morning  in 
a  house  whose  ways  are  disquieting,  after  a  duel  in 
which  you  escaped  whole  only  by  sheer  good  luck,  does 
not  fit  one  for  sleep.  When  I  finally  drew  the  covers 
over  me  it  was  to  lie  and  speculate  upon  the  events  of 
the  night  in  connection  with  the  history  of  the  few 
weeks  I  had  spent  at  Glenarm.  Larry  had  suggested 
in  New  York  that  Pickering  was  playing  some  deep 
game,  and  I,  myself,  could  not  accept  Pickering's  state 
ment  that  my  grandfather's  large  fortune  had  proved 
to  be  a  myth.  If  Pickering  had  not  stolen  or  dissipated 
it,  where  was  it  concealed?  Morgan  was  undoubtedly 
looking  for  something  of  value  or  he  would  not  risk 
his  life  in  the  business ;  and  it  was  quite  possible  that  he 
was  employed  by  Pickering  to  search  for  hidden  prop 
erty.  This  idea  took  strong  hold  of  me,  the  more  read 
ily,  I  fear,  since  I  had  always  been  anxious  to  see  evil 
in  Pickering.  There  was,  to  be  sure,  the  unknown  al- 

142 


I   EECEIVE   A    CALLER  143 

tentative  heir,  but  neither  she  nor  Sister  Theresa  was, 
I  imagined,  a  person  capable  of  hiring  an  assassin  to 
kill  me. 

On  reflection  I  dismissed  the  idea  of  appealing  to 
the  county  authorities,  and  I  never  regretted  that  reso 
lution.  The  seat  of  Wabana  County  was  twenty  miles 
away,  the  processes  of  law  were  unfamiliar,  and  I 
wished  to  avoid  publicity.  Morgan  might,  of  course, 
have  been  easily  disposed  of  by  an  appeal  to  the  Annan- 
dale  constable,  but  now  that  I  suspected  Pickering  of 
treachery  the  caretaker's  importance  dwindled.  I  had 
waited  all  my  life  for  a  chance  at  Arthur  Pickering, 
and  in  this  affair  I  hoped  to  draw  him  into  the  open 
and  settle  with  him. 

I  slept  presently,  but  woke  at  my  usual  hour,  and 
after  a  tub  felt  ready  for  another  day.  Bates  served 
me,  as  usual,  a  breakfast  that  gave  a  fair  aspect  to  the 
morning.  I  was  alert  for  any  sign  of  perturbation  in 
him;  but  I  had  already  decided  that  I  might  as  well 
look  for  emotion  in  a  stone  wall  as  in  this  placid,  color 
less  serving  man.  I  had  no  reason  to  suspect  him  of 
complicity  in  the  night's  affair,  but  I  had  no  faith  in 
him,  and  merely  waited  until  he  should  throw  himself 
more  boldly  into  the  game. 

By  my  plate  next  morning  I  found  this  note,  written 
in  a  clear,  bold,  woman's  hand : 


144  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CAXDLES 

The  Sisters  of  St.  Agatha  trust  that  the  intrusion  upon 
his  grounds  by  Miss  Armstrong,  one  of  their  students,  has 
caused  Mr.  Glenarm  no  annoyance.  The  Sisters  beg  that 
this  infraction  of  their  discipline  will  be  overlooked,  and 
they  assure  Mr.  Glenarm  that  it  will  not  recur. 


An  unnecessary  apology !  The  note-paper  was  of  the 
best  quality.  At  the  head  of  the  page  "St.  Agatha's, 
Annandale"  was  embossed  in  purple.  It  was  the  first 
note  I  had  received  from  a  woman  for  a  long  time,  and 
it  gave  me  a  pleasant  emotion.  One  of  the  Sisters  I  had 
seen  beyond  the  wall  undoubtedly  wrote  it — possibly 
Sister  Theresa  herself.  A  clever  woman,  that !  Thor 
oughly  capable  of  plucking  money  from  guileless  old 
gentlemen  !  Poor  Olivia !  born  for  freedom,  but  doomed 
to  a  pent-up  existence  with  a  lot  of  nuns !  I  resolved  to 
send  her  a  box  of  candy  sometime,  just  to  annoy  her 
grim  guardians.  Then  my  own  affairs  claimed  attention. 

"Bates,"  I  asked,  "do  you  know  what  Mr.  Glenarm 
did  with  the  plans  for  the  house  ?" 

He  started  slightly.  I  should  not  have  noticed  it  if 
I  had  not  been  keen  for  his  answer. 

"No,  sir.    I  can't  put  my  hand  upon  them,  sir." 

"That's  all  very  well,  Bates,  but  you  didn't  answer 
my  question.  Do  you  know  where  they  are?  I'll  put 
my  hand  on  them  if  you  will  kindly  tell  me  where 
they're  kept." 


I    EECEIVE    A    CALLER  145 

"Mr.  Glenarm,  I  fear  very  much  that  they  have  been 
destroyed.  I  tried  to  find  them  before  you  came,  to  tell 
3rou  the  whole  truth,  sir ;  but  they  must  have  been  made 
'way  with." 

"That's  very  interesting,  Bates.  Will  you  kindly 
tell  me  whom  you  suspect  of  destroying  them?  The 
toast  again,  please." 

His  hand  shook  as  he  passed  the  plate. 

"I  hardly  like  to  say,  sir,  when  it's  only  a  suspicion." 

"Of  course  I  shouldn't  ask  you  to  incriminate  your 
self,  but  I'll  have  to  insist  on  my  question.  It  may 
have  occurred  to  you,  Bates,  that  I'm  in  a  sense — in  a 
sense,  mind  you — the  master  here." 

"Well,  I  should  say,  if  you  press  me,  that  I  fear 
Mr.  Glenarm,  your  grandfather,  burned  the  plans  when 
he  left  here  the  last  time.  I  hope  you  will  pardon  me, 
sir,  for  seeming  to  reflect  upon  him." 

"Reflect  upon  the  devil !  What  was  his  idea,  do  you 
suppose  ?" 

"I  think,  sir,  if  you  will  pardon — " 

"Don't  be  so  fussy!"  I  snapped.  "Damn  your  par 
don,  and  go  on !" 

"He  wanted  you  to  study  out  the  place  for  yourself, 
sir.  It  was  dear  to  his  heart,  this  house.  He  set  his 
heart  upon  having  you  enjoy  it — " 

"I  like  the  word — go  ahead." 


"And  I  suppose  there  are  things  about  it  that  he 
wished  you  to  learn  for  yourself." 

"You  know  them,  of  course,  and  are  watching  me  to 
see  when  I'm  hot  or  cold,  like  kids  playing  hide  the 
handkerchief." 

The  fellow  turned  and  faced  me  across  the  table. 

"Mr.  Glenarm,  as  I  hope  God  may  be  merciful  to  me 
in  the  last  judgment,  I  don't  know  any  more  than  you 
do." 

"You  were  here  with  Mr.  Glenarm  all  the  time  he  was 
building  the  house,  but  you  never  saw  walls  built  that 
weren't  what  they  appeared  to  be,  or  doors  made  that 
didn't  lead  anywhere." 

I  summoned  all  my  irony  and  contempt  for  this  ar 
raignment.  He  lifted  his  hand,  as  though  making 
oath. 

"As  God  sees  me,  that  is  all  true.  I  was  here  to  care 
for  the  dead  master's  comfort  and  not  to  spy  on  him." 

"And  Morgan,  your  friend,  what  about  him  ?" 

"I  wish  I  knew,  sir." 

"I  wish  to  the  devil  you  did,"  I  said,  and  flung  out 
of  the  room  and  into  the  library. 

At  eleven  o'clock  I  heard  a  pounding  at  the  great 
front  door  and  Bates  came  to  announce  a  caller,  who 
was  now  audibly  knocking  the  snow  from  his  shoes  in 
the  outer  hall. 


I   KECEIVE    A    CALLER  147 

"The  Reverend  Paul  Stoddard,  sir." 

The  chaplain  of  St.  Agatha's  was  a  big  fellow,  as  I 
had  remarked  on  the  occasion  of  his  interview  with 
Olivia  Gladys  Armstrong  by  the  wall.  His  light  brown 
hair  was  close-cut;  his  smooth-shaven  face  was  bright 
with  the  freshness  of  youth.  Here  was  a  sturdy  young 
apostle  without  frills,  but  with  a  vigorous  grip  that  left 
my  hand  tingling.  His  voice  was  deep  and  musical, — a 
voice  that  suggested  sincerity  and  inspired  confidence. 

"I'm  afraid  I  haven't  been  neighborly,  Mr.  Glenarm. 
I  was  called  away  from  home  a  few  days  after  I  heard 
of  your  arrival,  and  I  have  just  got  back.  I  blew  in 
yesterday  with  the  snow-storm." 

He  folded  his  arms  easily  and  looked  at  me  with 
cheerful  directness,  as  though  politely  interested  in  what 
manner  of  man  I  might  be. 

"It  was  a  fine  storm ;  I  got  a  great  day  out  of  it,"  I 
said.  "An  Indiana  snow-storm  is  something  I  have 
never  experienced  before." 

"This  is  my  second  winter.  I  came  out  here  because 
I  wished  to  do  some  reading,  and  thought  I'd  rather  do 
it  alone  than  in  a  university." 

"Studious  habits  are  rather  forced  on  one  out  here, 
I  should  say.  In  my  own  case  my  course  of  reading 
is  all  cut  out  for  me." 

He  ran  his  eyes  over  the  room. 


148  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"The  Glenarm  collection  is  famous, — the  best  in  the 
country,  easily.  Mr.  Glenarm,  your  grandfather,  was 
certainly  an  enthusiast.  I  met  him  several  times;  he 
was  a  trifle  hard  to  meet," — and  the  clergyman  smiled. 

I  felt  rather  uncomfortable,  assuming  that  he  prob 
ably  knew  I  was  undergoing  discipline,  and  why  my 
grandfather  had  so  ordained  it.  The  Reverend  Paul 
Stoddard  was  so  simple,  unaffected  and  manly  a  fellow 
that  I  shrank  from  the  thought  that  I  must  appear  to 
him  an  ungrateful  blackguard  whom  my  grandfather 
had  marked  with  obloquy. 

"My  grandfather  had  his  whims;  but  he  was  a  fine, 
generous-hearted  old  gentleman,"  I  said. 

"Yes;  in  my  few  interviews  with  him  he  surprised 
me  by  the  range  of  his  knowledge.  He  was  quite  able 
to  instruct  me  in  certain  curious  branches  of  church 
history  that  had  appealed  to  him." 

"You  were  here  when  he  built  the  house,  I  suppose  ?" 

My  visitor  laughed  cheerfully. 

"I  was  on  my  side  of  the  barricade  for  a  part  of  the 
time.  You  know  there  was  a  great  deal  of  mystery 
about  the  building  of  this  house.  The  country-folk 
hereabouts  can't  quite  get  over  it.  They  have  a  super 
stition  that  there's  treasure  buried  somewhere  on  the 
place.  You  see,  Mr.  Glenarm  wouldn't  employ  any  local 
labor.  The  work  was  done  by  men  he  brought  from 


I   EECEIVE   A   CALLER  149 

afar, — none  of  them,  the  villagers  say,  could  speak  Eng 
lish.  They  were  all  Greeks  or  Italians." 

"I  have  heard  something  of  the  kind,"  I  remarked, 
feeling  that  here  was  a  man  who  with  a  little  cultivat 
ing  might  help  me  to  solve  some  of  my  riddles. 

"You  haven't  been  on  our  side  of  the  wall  yet  ?  Well, 
I  promise  not  to  molest  your  hidden  treasure  if  you'll 
he  neighborly." 

"I  fear  there's  a  big  joke  involved  in  the  hidden 
treasure,"  I  replied.  "I'm  so  busy  staying  at  home  to 
guard  it  that  I  have  no  time  for  social  recreation." 

He  looked  at  me  quickly  to  see  whether  I  was  joking. 
His  eyes  were  steady  and  earnest.  The  Eeverend  Paul 
Stoddard  impressed  me  more  and  more  agreeably. 
There  was  a  suggestion  of  a  quiet  strength  about  him 
that  drew  me  to  him. 

"I  suppose  every  one  around  here  thinks  of  nothing 
but  that  I'm  at  Glenarm  to  earn  my  inheritance.  My 
residence  here  must  look  pretty  sordid  from  the  out 
side." 

"Mr.  Glenarm's  will  is  a  matter  of  record  in  the 
county,  of  course.  But  you  are  too  hard  on  yourself. 
It's  nobody's  business  if  your  grandfather  wished  to 
visit  his  whims  on  you.  I  should  say,  in  my  own  case, 
that  I  don't  consider  it  any  of  my  business  what  you 
are  here  for.  I  didn't  come  over  to  annoy  you  or  to 


150    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

pry  into  your  affairs.  I  get  lonely  now  and  then,  and 
thought  I'd  like  to  establish  neighborly  relations." 

"Thank  you;  I  appreciate  your  coming  very  much," 
— and  my  heart  warmed  under  the  manifest  kindness 
of  the  man. 

"And  I  hope" — he  spoke  for  the  first  time  with  re 
straint — "I  hope  nothing  may  prevent  your  knowing 
Sister  Theresa  and  Miss  Devereux.  They  are  interest 
ing  and  charming — the  only  women  about  here  of  your 
own  social  status." 

My  liking  for  him  abated  slightly.  He  might  be  a 
detective,  representing  the  alternative  heir,  for  all  I 
knew,  and  possibly  Sister  Theresa  was  a  party  to  the 
conspiracy. 

"In  time,  no  doubt,  in  time,  I  shall  know  them,"  I 
answered  evasively. 

"Oh,  quite  as  you  like!" — and  he  changed  the  sub 
ject.  We  talked  of  many  things, — of  outdoor  sports, 
with  which  he  showed  great  familiarity,  of  universities, 
of  travel  and  adventure.  He  was  a  Columbia  man  and 
had  spent  two  years  at  Oxford. 

"Well,"  he  exclaimed,  "this  has  been  very  pleasant, 
but  I  must  run.  I  have  just  been  over  to  see  Morgan, 
the  caretaker  at  the  resort  village.  The  poor  fellow  ac 
cidentally  shot  himself  yesterday,  cleaning  his  gun  or 
something  of  that  sort,  and  he  has  an  ugly  hole  in  his 


I   RECEIVE   A   CALLER  151 

arm  that  will  shut  him  in  for  a  month  or  worse.  He 
gave  me  an  errand  to  do  for  him.  He's  a  conscientious 
fellow  and  wished  me  to  wire  for  him  to  Mr.  Pickering 
that  he'd  been  hurt,  but  was  attending  to  his  duties. 
Pickering  owns  a  cottage  over  there,  and  Morgan  has 
charge  of  it.  You  know  Pickering,  of  course  ?" 

I  looked  my  clerical  neighbor  straight  in  the  eye,  a 
trifle  coldly  perhaps.  I  was  wondering  why  Morgan, 
with  whom  I  had  enjoyed  a  duel  in  my  own  cellar  only 
a  few  hours  before,  should  be  reporting  his  injury  to 
Arthur  Pickering. 

"I  think  I  have  seen  Morgan  about  here,"  I  said. 

"Oh,  yes !  He's  a  woodsman  and  a  hunter — our  Nim- 
rod  of  the  lake." 

"A  good  sort,  very  likely !" 

"I  dare  say.  He  has  sometimes  brought  me  ducks 
during  the  season." 

"To  be  sure!  They  shoot  ducks  at  night, — these 
Hoosier  hunters, — so  I  hear!" 

He  laughed  as  he  shook  himself  into  his  greatcoat. 

"That's  possible,  though  unsportsmanlike.  But  we 
don't  have  to  look  a  gift  mallard  in  the  eye." 

We  laughed  together.  I  found  that  it  was  easy  to 
laugh  with  him. 

"By  the  way,  I  forgot  to  get  Pickering's  address  from 
Morgan.  If  you  happen  to  have  it — " 


153    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"With  pleasure,"  I  said.  "Alexis  Building,  Broad 
way,  New  York." 

"Good!  That's  easy  to  remember,"  he  said,  smiling 
and  turning  up  his  coat  collar.  "Don't  forget  me; 
I'm  quartered  in  a  hermit's  cell  back  of  the  chapel,  and 
I  believe  we  can  find  many  matters  of  interest  to  talk 
about." 

"I'm  confident  of  it,"  I  said,  glad  of  the  sympathy 
and  cheer  that  seemed  to  emanate  from  his  stalwart 
figure. 

I  threw  on  my  overcoat  and  walked  to  the  gate  with 
him,  and  saw  him  hurry  toward  the  village  with  long 
strides. 


CHAPTEE   XII 

I  EXPLORE  A  PASSAGE 

"Bates !" — I  found  him  busy  replenishing  the  candle 
sticks  in  the  library, — it  seemed  to  me  that  he  was  al 
ways  poking  about  with  an  armful  of  candles, — "there 
are  a  good  many  queer  things  in  this  world,  but  I  guess 
you're  one  of  the  queerest.  I  don't  mind  telling  you 
that  there  are  times  when  I  think  you  a  thoroughly  bad 
lot,  and  then  again  I  question  my  judgment  and  don't 
give  you  credit  for  being  much  more  than  a  doddering 
fool." 

He  was  standing  on  a  ladder  beneath  the  great  crystal 
chandelier  that  hung  from  the  center  of  the  ceiling, 
and  looked  down  upon  me  with  that  patient  injury 
that  is  so  appealing  in  a  dog — in,  say,  the  eyes  of  an 
Irish  setter,  when  you  accidentally  step  on  his  tail. 
That  look  is  heartbreaking  in  a  setter,  but,  seen  in  a 
man,  it  arouses  the  direst  homicidal  feelings  of  which 
I  am  capable. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Glenarm,"  he  replied  humbly. 

"Now,  I  want  you  to  grasp  this  idea  that  I'm  going 
153 


154  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

to  dig  into  this  old  shell  top  and  bottom;  I'm  going 
to  blow  it  up  with  dynamite,  if  I  please ;  and  if  I  catch 
you  spying  on  me  or  reporting  my  doings  to  my  ene 
mies,  or  engaging  in  any  questionable  performances 
whatever,  I'll  hang  you  between  the  posts  out  there  in 
the  school- wall — do  you  understand  ? — so  that  the  sweet 
Sisters  of  St.  Agatha  and  the  dear  little  school-girls 
and  the  chaplain  and  all  the  rest  will  shudder  through 
all  their  lives  at  the  very  thought  of  you." 

"Certainly,  Mr.  Glenarm," — and  his  tone  was  the 
same  he  would  have  used  if  I  had  asked  him  to  pass 
me  the  matches,  and  under  my  breath  I  consigned  him 
to  the  harshest  tortures  of  the  fiery  pit. 

"Now,  as  to  Morgan — " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"What  possible  business  do  you  suppose  he  has  with 
Mr.  Pickering?"  I  demanded. 

"Why,  sir,  that's  clear  enough.  Mr.  Pickering  owns 
a  house  up  the  lake, — he  got  it  through  your  grand 
father.  Morgan  has  the  care  of  it,  sir." 

"Very  plausible,  indeed !" — and  I  sent  him  off  to  his 
work. 

After  luncheon  I  went  below  and  directly  to  the  end 
of  the  corridor,  and  began  to  sound  the  walls.  To  the 
eye  they  were  all  alike,  being  of  cement,  and  substantial 
enough.  Through  the  area  window  I  saw  the  solid  earth 


I   EXPLORE   A   PASSAGE  155 

and  snow ;  surely  there  was  little  here  to  base  hope  upon, 
and  my  wonder  grew  at  the  ease  with  which  Morgan 
had  vanished  through  a  barred  window  and  into  frozen 
ground. 

The  walls  at  the  end  of  the  passage  were  as  solid  as 
rock,  and  they  responded  dully  to  the  stroke  of  the 
hammer.  I  sounded  them  on  both  sides,  retracing  my 
steps  to  the  stairway,  becoming  more  and  more  impa 
tient  at  my  ill-luck  or  stupidity.  There  was  every  rea 
son  why  I  should  know  my  own  house,  and  yet  a  stran 
ger  and  an  outlaw  ran  through  it  with  amazing  daring. 

After  an  hour's  idle  search  I  returned  to  the  end  of 
the  corridor,  repeated  all  my  previous  soundings,  and, 
I  fear,  indulged  in  language  unbecoming  a  gentleman. 
Then,  in  my  blind  anger,  I  found  what  patient  search 
had  not  disclosed. 

I  threw  the  hammer  from  me  in  a  fit  of  temper;  it 
struck  upon  a  large  square  in  the  cement  floor  which 
gave  forth  a  hollow  sound.  I  was  on  my  knees  in  an 
instant,  my  fingers  searching  the  cracks,  and  drawing 
down  close  I  could  feel  a  current  of  air,  slight  but  un 
mistakable,  against  my  face. 

The  cement  square,  though  exactly  like  the  others  in 
the  cellar  floor,  was  evidently  only  a  wooden  imitation, 
covering  an  opening  beneath. 

The  block  was  fitted  into  its  place  with  a  nicety  that 


156     THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

certified  to  the  skill  of  the  hand  that  had  adjusted  it. 
I  broke  a  blade  of  my  pocket-knife  trying  to  pry  it 
up,  but  in  a  moment  I  succeeded,  and  found  it  to  be 
in  reality  a  trap-door,  hinged  to  the  substantial  part 
of  the  floor. 

A  current  of  cool  fresh  air,  the  same  that  had  sur 
prised  me  in  the  night,  struck  my  face  as  I  lay  flat  and 
peered  into  the  opening.  The  lower  passage  was  as  black 
as  pitch,  and  I  lighted  a  lantern  I  had  brought  with  me, 
found  that  wooden  steps  gave  safe  conduct  below  and 
went  down. 

I  stood  erect  in  the  passage  and  had  several  inches 
to  spare.  It  extended  both  ways,  running  back  under 
the  foundations  of  the  house.  This  lower  passage  cut 
squarely  under  the  park  before  the  house  and  toward 
the  school  wall.  No  wonder  my  grandfather  had 
brought  foreign  laborers  who  could  speak  no  English 
to  work  on  his  house !  There  was  something  delightful 
in  the  largeness  of  his  scheme,  and  I  hurried  through 
the  tunnel  with  a  hundred  questions  tormenting  my 
brain. 

The  air  grew  steadily  fresher,  until,  after  I  had  gone 
about  two  hundred  yards,  I  reached  a  point  where  the 
wind  seemed  to  beat  down  on  me  from  above.  I  put 
up  my  hands  and  found  two  openings  about  two  yards 
apart,  through  which  the  air  sucked  steadily.  I  moved 


I   EXPLOEE   A   PASSAGE  157 

out  of  the  current  with  a  chuckle  in  my  throat  and  a 
grin  on  my  face.  I  had  passed  under  the  gate  in  the 
school-wall,  and  I  knew  now  why  the  piers  that  held  it 
had  been  built  so  high, — they  were  hollow  and  were  the 
means  of  sending  fresh  air  into  the  tunnel. 

I  had  traversed  about  twenty  yards  more  when  I  felt 
a  slight  vibration  accompanied  by  a  muffled  roar,  and 
almost  immediately  came  to  a  short  wooden  stair  that 
marked  the  end  of  the  passage.  I  had  no  means  of 
judging  directions,  but  I  assumed  I  was  somewhere  near 
the  chapel  in  the  school-grounds. 

I  climbed  the  steps,  noting  still  the  vibration,  and 
found  a  door  that  yielded  readily  to  pressure.  In  a 
moment  I  stood  blinking,  lantern  in  hand,  in  a  well- 
lighted,  floored  room.  Overhead  the  tumult  and  thunder 
of  an  organ  explained  the  tremor  and  roar  I  had  heard 
below.  I  was  in  the  crypt  of  St.  Agatha's  chapel.  The 
inside  of  the  door  by  which  I  had  entered  was  a  part  of 
the  wainscoting  of  the  room,  and  the  opening  was  wholly 
covered  with  a  map  of  the  Holy  Land. 

In  my  absorption  I  had  lost  the  sense  of  time,  and  I 
was  amazed  to  find  that  it  was  five  o'clock,  but  I  resolved 
to  go  into  the  chapel  before  going  home. 

The  way  up  was  clear  enough,  and  I  was  soon  in  the 
vestibule.  I  opened  the  door,  expecting  to  find  a  service 
in  progress ;  but  the  little  church  was  empty  save  where, 


158  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

at  the  right  of  the  chancel,  an  organist  was  filling  the 
church  with  the  notes  of  a  triumphant  march.  Cap  in 
hand  I  stole  forward  and  sank  down  in  one  of  the 
pews. 

A  lamp  over  the  organ  keyboard  gave  the  only  light 
in  the  chapel,  and  made  an  aureole  about  her  head, — 
about  the  uncovered  head  of  Olivia  Gladys  Armstrong! 
I  smiled  as  I  recognized  her  and  smiled,  too,  as  I  re 
membered  her  name.  But  the  joy  she  brought  to  the 
music,  the  happiness  in  her  face  as  she  raised  it  in  the 
minor  harmonies,  her  isolation,  marked  by  the  little  isle 
of  light  against  the  dark  background  of  the  choir, — 
these  things  touched  and  moved  me,  and  I  bent  forward, 
my  arms  upon  the  pew  in  front  of  me,  watching  and 
listening  with  a  kind  of  awed  wonder.  Here  was  a 
refuge  of  peace  and  lulling  harmony  after  the  disturbed 
life  at  Glenarm,  and  I  yielded  myself  to  its  solace  with 
an  inclination  my  life  had  rarely  known. 

There  was  no  pause  in  the  outpouring  of  the  melody. 
She  changed  stops  and  manuals  with  swift  fingers  and 
passed  from  one  composition  to  another;  now  it  was  an 
august  hymn,  now  a  theme  from  Wagner,  and  finally 
Mendelssohn's  Spring  Song  leaped  forth  exultant  in  the 
dark  chapel. 

She  ceased  suddenly  with  a  little  sigh  and  struck 
her  hands  together,  for  the  place  was  cold.  As  she 


I    EXPLORE   A   PASSAGE  159 

reached  up  to  put  out  the  lights  I  stepped  forward  to 
the  chancel  steps. 

"Please  allow  me  to  do  that  for  you  ?" 

She  turned  toward  me,  gathering  a  cape  about  her. 

"Oh,  it's  you,  is  it  ?"  she  asked,  looking  about  quickly. 
"I  don't  remember — I  don't  seem  to  remember — that 
you  were  invited." 

"I  didn't  know  I  was  coming  myself,"  I  remarked 
truthfully,  lifting  my  hand  to  the  lamp. 

"That  is  my  opinion  of  you, — that  you're  a  rather  un 
expected  person.  But  thank  you,  very  much." 

She  showed  no  disposition  to  prolong  the  interview, 
but  hurried  toward  the  door,  and  reached  the  vestibule 
before  I  came  up  with  her. 

"You  can't  go  any  further,  Mr.  Glenarm,"  she  said, 
and  waited  as  though  to  make  sure  I  understood. 
Straight  before  us  through  the  wood  and  beyond  the 
school-buildings  the  sunset  faded  sullenly.  The  night 
was  following  fast  upon  the  gray  twilight  and  already 
the  bolder  planets  were  aflame  in  the  sky.  The  path 
led  straight  ahead  beneath  the  black  boughs. 

"I  might  perhaps  walk  to  the  dormitory,  or  whatever 
you  call  it,"  I  said. 

"Thank  you,  no!  I'm  late  and  haven't  time  to 
bother  with  you.  It's  against  the  rules,  you  know,  for 
us  to  receive  visitors." 


160  THE  HOUSE  OP  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

She  stepped  out  into  the  path. 

"But  I'm  not  a  caller.  I'm  just  a  neighbor.  And  I 
owe  you  several  calls,  anyhow." 

She  laughed,  but  did  not  pause,  and  I  followed  a 
pace  behind  her. 

"I  hope  you  don't  think  for  a  minute  that  I  chased 
a  rabbit  on  your  side  of  the  fence  just  to  meet  you ;  do 
you,  Mr.  Glenarm?" 

"Be  it  far  from  me !  I'm  glad  I  came,  though,  for  I 
liked  your  music  immensely.  Fm  in  earnest;  I  think 
it  quite  wonderful,  Miss  Armstrong." 

She  paid  no  heed  to  me. 

"And  I  hope  I  may  promise  myself  the  pleasure  of 
hearing  you  often." 

"You  are  positively  flattering,  Mr.  Glenarm;  but  as 
I'm  going  away — " 

I  felt  my  heart  sink  at  the  thought  of  her  going 
away.  She  was  the  only  amusing  person  I  had  met  at 
Glenarm,  and  the  idea  of  losing  her  gave  a  darker  note 
to  the  bleak  landscape. 

"That's  really  too  bad !  And  just  when  we  were  get 
ting  acquainted !  And  I  was  coming  to  church  every 
Sunday  to  hear  you  play  and  to  pray  for  snow,  so  you'd 
come  over  often  to  chase  rabbits !" 

This,  I  thought,  softened  her  heart.  At  any  rate  her 
tone  changed. 


I   EXPLOEE   A   PASSAGE  161 

"I  don't  play  for  services;  they're  afraid  to  let  me 
for  fear  I'd  run  comic-opera  tunes  into  the  Te  Deum !" 

"How  shocking!" 

"Do  you  know,  Mr.  Glenarm," — her  tone  became  con 
fidential  and  her  pace  slackened, — "we  call  you  the 
squire,  at  St.  Agatha's,  and  the  lord  of  the  manor,  and 
names  like  that !  All  the  girls  are  perfectly  crazy  about 
you.  They'd  be  wild  if  they  thought  I  talked  with  you, 
clandestinely, — is  that  the  way  you  pronounce  it?" 

"Anything  you  say  and  any  way  you  say  it  satisfies 
me,"  I  replied. 

"That's  ever  so  nice  of  you,"  she  said,  mockingly 
again. 

I  felt  foolish  and  guilty.  She  would  probably  get 
roundly  scolded  if  the  grave  Sisters  learned  of  her  talks 
with  me,  and  very  likely  I  should  win  their  hearty  con 
tempt.  But  I  did  not  turn  back. 

"I  hope  the  reason  you're  leaving  isn't — "  I  hesitated. 

"Ill  conduct?  Oh,  yes;  I'm  terribly  wicked,  Squire 
Glenarm !  They're  sending  me  off." 

"But  I  suppose  they're  awfully  strict,  the  Sisters." 

"They're  hideous, — perfectly  hideous." 

"Where  is  your  home  ?"  I  demanded.  "Chicago,  Indi 
anapolis,  Cincinnati,  perhaps?" 

"Humph,  you  are  dull !  You  ought  to  know  from  my 
accent  that  I'm  not  from  Chicago.  And  I  hope  I  haven't 


162  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

a  Kentucky  girl's  air  of  waiting  to  be  flattered  to  death. 
And  no  Indianapolis  girl  would  talk  to  a  strange  man  at 
the  edge  of  a  deep  wood  in  the  gray  twilight  of  a  winter 
day, — that's  from  a  book;  and  the  Cincinnati  girl  is 
without  my  elan,  esprit, — whatever  you  please  to  call  it. 
She  has  more  Teutonic  repose, — more  of  Gretchen-of- 
the-Khine- Valley  about  her.  Don't  you  adore  French, 
Squire  Glenarm?"  she  concluded  breathlessly,  and  with 
no  pause  in  her  quick  step. 

"I  adore  yours,  Miss  Armstrong,"  I  asserted,  yielding 
myself  further  to  the  joy  of  idiocy,  and  delighting  in 
the  mockery  and  changing  moods  of  her  talk.  I  did 
not  make  her  out ;  indeed,  I  preferred  not  to !  I  was 
not  then, — and  I  am  not  now,  thank  God, — of  an  ana 
lytical  turn  of  mind.  And  as  I  grow  older  I  prefer, 
even  after  many  a  blow,  to  take  my  fellow  human  be 
ings  a  good  deal  as  I  find  them.  And  as  for  women,  old 
or  young,  I  envy  no  man  his  gift  of  resolving  them  into 
elements.  As  well  carry  a  spray  of  arbutus  to  the  lab 
oratory  or  subject  the  enchantment  of  moonlight  upon 
running  water  to  the  flame  and  blow-pipe  as  try  to 
analyze  the  heart  of  a  girl, — particularly  a  girl  who 
paddles  a  canoe  with  a  sure  stroke  and  puts  up  a  good 
race  with  a  rabbit. 

A  lamp  shone  ahead  of  us  at  the  entrance  of  one  of 
the  houses,  and  lights  appeared  in  all  the  buildings. 


I   EXPLOKE   A   PASSAGE  163 

"If  I  knew  your  window  I  should  certainly  sing  un 
der  it, — except  that  you're  going  home !  You  didn't  tell 
me  why  they  were  deporting  you." 

"I'm  really  ashamed  to !    You  would  never — " 

"Oh,  yes,  I  would;  I'm  really  an  old  friend!"  I  in 
sisted,  feeling  more  like  an  idiot  every  minute. 

"Well,  don't  tell !  But  they  caught  me  flirting — with 
the  grocery  boy !  Now  aren't  you  disgusted  ?" 

"Thoroughly !  I  can't  believe  it !  Why,  you'd  a  lot 
better  flirt  with  me,"  I  suggested  boldly. 

"Well,  I'm  to  be  sent  away  for  good  at  Christmas.  I 
may  come  back  then  if  I  can  square  myself.  My! 
That's  slang,— isn't  it  horrid?" 

"The  Sisters  don't  like  slang,  I  suppose  ?" 

"They  loathe  it !  Miss  Devereux — you  know  who  she 
is ! — she  spies  on  us  and  tells." 

"You  don't  say  so ;  but  I'm  not  surprised  at  her.  I've 
heard  about  her!"  I  declared  bitterly. 

We  had  reached  the  door,  and  I  expected  her  to  fly; 
but  she  lingered  a  moment. 

"Oh,  if  you  know  her!  Perhaps  you're  a  spy,  too! 
It's  just  as  well  we  should  never  meet  again,  Mr.  Glen- 
arm,"  she  declared  haughtily. 

"The  memory  of  these  few  meetings  will  always  lin 
ger  with  me,  Miss  Armstrong,"  I  returned  in  an  imita 
tion  of  her  own  tone. 


164    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"I  shall  scorn  to  remember  you.  I" — and  she  folded 
her  arms  under  the  cloak  tragically. 

"Our  meetings  have  been  all  too  few,  Miss  Arm 
strong.  Three,  exactly,  I  believe !" 

"I  see  you  prefer  to  ignore  the  first  time  I  ever  saw 
you,"  she  said,  her  hand  on  the  door. 

"Out  there  in  your  canoe  ?  Never !  And  you've  for 
given  me  for  overhearing  you  and  the  chaplain  on  the 
wall — please !" 

She  grasped  the  knob  of  the  door  and  paused  an  in 
stant  as  though  pondering. 

"I  make  it  four  times,  not  counting  once  in  the  road 
and  other  times  when  you  didn't  know,  Squire  Glenarm ! 
I'm  a  foolish  little  girl  to  have  remembered  the  first.  I 
see  now  how  b-1-i-n-d  I  have  been." 

She  opened  and  closed  the  door  softly,  and  I  heard 
her  running  up  the  steps  within. 

I  ran  back  to  the  chapel,  roundly  abusing  myself  for 
having  neglected  my  more  serious  affairs  for  a  bit  of 
silly  talk  with  a  school-girl,  fearful  lest  the  openings 
I  had  left  at  both  ends  of  the  passage  should  have  been 
discovered.  The  tunnel  added  a  new  and  puzzling  fac 
tor  to  the  problem  already  before  me,  and  I  was  eager 
for  an  opportunity  to  sit  down  in  peace  and  comfort  to 
study  the  situation. 

At  the  chapel  I  narrowly  escaped  running  into  Stod- 


4 
,  .  ~ « 


*'I   shall   scorn   to   remember  you!" — and  she  folded  her  arms  under 
the  cloak  tragically.  PaSe  f^4 


I   EXPLORE   A   PASSAGE  165 

dard,  but  I  slipped  past  him,  pulled  the  hidden  door 
into  place,  traversed  the  tunnel  without  incident,  and 
soon  climbed  through  the  hatchway  and  slammed  the 
false  block  securely  into  the  opening. 


CHAPTEK    XIII 

A  PAIR  OF  EAVESDROPPERS 

When  I  came  down  after  dressing  for  dinner,  Bates 
called  my  attention  to  a  belated  mail.  I  pounced  eager 
ly  upon  a  letter  in  Laurance  Donovan's  well-known 
hand,  bearing,  to  my  surprise,  an  American  stamp  and 
postmarked  New  Orleans.  It  was  dated,  however,  at 
Vera  Cruz,  Mexico,  December  fifteenth,  1901. 

DEAB  OLD  MAN  :  I  have  had  a  merry  time  since  I  saw  you 
in  New  York.  Couldn't  get  away  for  a  European  port 
as  I  hoped  when  I  left  you,  as  the  authorities  seemed  to 
be  taking  my  case  seriously,  and  I  was  lucky  to  get  off 
as  a  deck-hand  on  a  south-bound  boat.  I  expected  to  get  a 
slice  of  English  prodigal  veal  at  Christmas,  but  as  things 
stand  now,  I  am  grateful  to  be  loose  even  in  this  God-for 
saken  hole.  The  British  bulldog  is  eager  to  insert  its 
teeth  in  my  trousers,  and  I  was  flattered  to  see  my  picture 
bulletined  in  a  conspicuous  place  the  day  I  struck  Vera 
Cruz.  You  see,  they're  badgering  the  Government  at 
home  because  I'm  not  apprehended,  and  they've  got  to 
catch  and  hang  me  to  show  that  they've  really  got  their 
hands  on  the  Irish  situation.  I  am  not  afraid  of  the 
Greasers — no  people  who  gorge  themselves  with  bananas 
and  red  peppers  can  be  dangerous — but  the  British  consul 
here  has  a  bad  eye  and  even  as  I  write  I  am  dimly  con- 

166 


167 

scious  that  a  sleek  person,  who  is  ostensibly  engaged  in 
literary  work  at  the  next  table,  is  really  killing  time  while 
he  waits  for  me  to  finish  this  screed. 

No  doubt  you  are  peacefully  settled  on  your  ancestral 
estate  with  only  a  few  months  and  a  little  patience  be 
tween  you  and  your  grandfather's  siller.  You  always  were 
a  lucky  brute.  People  die  just  to  leave  you  money,  whereas 
I'll  have  to  die  to  get  out  of  jail. 

I  hope  to  land  under  the  Stars  and  Stripes  within  a  few 
days,  either  across  country  through  El  Paso  or  via  New 
Orleans, — preferably  the  former,  as  a  man's  social  position 
is  rated  high  in  Texas  in  proportion  to  the  amount  of  re 
ward  that's  out  for  him.  They'd  probably  give  me  the 
freedom  of  the  state  if  they  knew  my  crimes  had  been  the 
subject  of  debate  in  the  House  of  Commons. 

But  the  man  across  the  table  is  casually  looking  over 
here  for  a  glimpse  of  my  signature,  so  I  must  give  him 
a  good  one  just  for  fun.    With  best  wishes  always, 
Faithfully  yours, 

GEOBGE  WASHINGTON  SMITH. 

P.  S. — I  shan't  mail  this  here,  but  give  it  to  a  red-haired 
Irishman  on  a  steamer  that  sails  north  to-night.  Pleasant, 
I  must  say,  this  eternal  dodging!  Wish  I  could  share  your 
rural  paradise  for  the  length  of  a  pipe  and  a  bottle!  Have 
forgotten  whether  you  said  Indian  Territory  or  Indiana, 
but  will  take  chances  on  the  latter  as  more  remotely  sug 
gesting  the  aborigines. 

Bates  gave  me  my  coffee  in  the  library,  as  I  wished 
to  settle  down  to  an  evening  of  reflection  without  delay. 
Larry's  report  of  himself  was  not  reassuring.  I  knew 
that  if  he  had  any  idea  of  trying  to  reach  me  he  would 
not  mention  it  in  a  letter  which  might  fall  into  the 
hands  of  the  authorities,  and  the  hope  that  he  might 


168  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

join  me  grew.  I  was  not,  perhaps,  entitled  to  a  com 
panion  at  Glenarm  under  the  terms  of  my  exile,  but  as 
a  matter  of  protection  in  the  existing  condition  of  af 
fairs  there  could  be  no  legal  or  moral  reason  why  I 
should  not  defend  myself  against  my  foes,  and  Larry 
was  an  ally  worth  having. 

In  all  my  hours  of  questioning  and  anxiety  at  Glen- 
arm  I  never  doubted  the  amiable  intentions  of  my 
grandfather.  His  device  for  compelling  my  residence 
at  his  absurd  house  was  in  keeping  with  his  character, 
and  it  was  all  equitable  enough.  But  his  dead  hand  had 
no  control  over  the  strange  issue,  and  I  felt  justified  in 
interpreting  the  will  in  the  light  of  my  experiences.  I 
certainly  did  not  intend  to  appeal  to  the  local  police  au 
thorities,  at  least  not  until  the  animus  of  the  attack  on 
me  was  determined. 

My  neighbor,  the  chaplain,  had  inadvertently  given 
me  a  bit  of  important  news ;  and  my  mind  kept  revert 
ing  to  the  fact  that  Morgan  was  reporting  his  injury  to 
the  executor  of  my  grandfather's  estate  in  New  York. 
Everything  else  that  had  happened  was  tame  and  un 
important  compared  with  this.  Why  had  John  Marshall 
Glenarm  made  Arthur  Pickering  the  executor  of  his 
estate?  He  knew  that  I  detested  him,  that  Pickering's 
noble  aims  and  high  ambitions  had  been  praised  by  my 
family  until  his  very  name  sickened  me ;  and  yet  my 


A   PAIR   OF   EAVESDROPPERS          169 

own  grandfather  had  thought  it  wise  to  intrust  his  for 
tune  and  my  future  to  the  man  of  all  men  who  was 
most  repugnant  to  me.  I  rose  and  paced  the  floor  in 
anger. 

Instead  of  accepting  Pickering's  word  for  it  that  the 
will  was  all  straight,  I  should  have  employed  counsel 
and  taken  legal  advice  before  suffering  myself  to  be 
rushed  away  into  a  part  of  the  world  I  had  never  visited 
before,  and  cooped  up  in  a  dreary  house  under  the  eye 
of  a  somber  scoundrel  who  might  poison  me  any  day,  if 
he  did  not  prefer  to  shoot  me  in  my  sleep.  My  rage 
must  fasten  upon  some  one,  and  Bates  was  the  nearest 
target  for  it.  I  went  to  the  kitchen,  where  he  usually 
spent  his  evenings,  to  vent  my  feelings  upon  him,  only 
to  find  him  gone.  I  climbed  to  his  room  and  found  it 
empty.  Very  likely  he  was  off  condoling  with  his  friend 
and  fellow  conspirator,  the  caretaker,  and  I  fumed  with 
rage  and  disappointment.  I  was  thoroughly  tired,  as 
tired  as  on  days  when  I  had  beaten  my  way  through 
tropical  jungles  without  food  or  water;  but  I  wished, 
in  my  impotent  anger  against  I  knew  not  what  agencies, 
to  punish  myself,  to  induce  an  utter  weariness  that 
would  drag  me  exhausted  to  bed. 

The  snow  in  the  highway  was  well  beaten  down  and 
I  swung  off  countryward  past  St.  Agatha's.  A  gray 
mist  hung  over  the  fields  in  whirling  clouds,  breaking 


170    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CAXDLES 

away  occasionally  and  showing  the  throbbing  winter 
stars.  The  walk,  and  my  interest  in  the  alternation  of 
star-lighted  and  mist-wrapped  landscape  won  me  to  a 
better  state  of  mind,  and  after  tramping  a  couple  of 
miles,  I  set  out  for  home.  Several  times  on  my  tramp 
I  had  caught  myself  whistling  the  air  of  a  majestic 
old  hymn,,  and  smiled,  remembering  my  young  friend 
Olivia,  and  her  playing  in  the  chapel.  She  was  an 
amusing  child;  the  thought  of  her  further  lifted  my 
spirit;  and  I  turned  into  the  school  park  as  I  passed 
the  outer  gate  with  a  half -recognized  wish  to  pass  near 
the  barracks  where  she  spent  her  days. 

At  the  school-gate  the  lamps  of  a  carriage  suddenly 
blurred  in  the  mist.  Carriages  were  not  common  in  this 
region,  and  I  was  not  surprised  to  find  that  this  was  the 
familiar  village  hack  that  met  trains  day  and  night  at 
Glenarm  station.  Some  parent,  I  conjectured,  paying  a 
visit  to  St.  Agatha's ;  perhaps  the  father  of  Miss  Olivia 
Gladys  Armstrong  had  come  to  carry  her  home  for  a 
stricter  discipline  than  Sister  Theresa's  school  afforded. 

The  driver  sat  asleep  on  his  box,  and  I  passed  him 
and  went  on  into  the  grounds.  A  whim  seized  me  to 
visit  the  crypt  of  the  chapel  and  examine  the  opening 
to  the  tunnel.  As  I  passed  the  little  group  of  school- 
buildings  a  man  came  hurriedly  from  one  of  them  and 
turned  toward  the  chapel. 


A   PAIR   OF   EAVESDROPPERS          171 

I  first  thought  it  was  Stoddard,  but  I  could  not  make 
him  out  in  the  mist  and  I  waited  for  him  to  put  twenty 
paces  between  us  before  I  followed  along  the  path  that 
led  from  the  school  to  the  chapel. 

He  strode  into  the  chapel  porch  with  an  air  of  assur 
ance,  and  I  heard  him  address  some  one  who  had  been 
waiting.  The  mist  was  now  so  heavy  that  I  could  not 
see  my  hand  before  my  face,  and  I  stole  forward  until 
I  could  hear  the  voices  of  the  two  men  distinctly. 

"Bates!" 

"Yes,  sir." 

I  heard  feet  scraping  on  the  stone  floor  of  the  porch. 

"This  is  a  devil  of  a  place  to  talk  in  but  it's  the  best 
we  can  do.  Did  the  young  man  know  I  sent  for  you?" 

"No,  sir.  He  was  quite  busy  with  his  books  and  pa 
pers." 

"Humph !    We  can  never  be  sure  of  him." 

"I  suppose  that  is  correct,  sir." 

"Well,  you  and  Morgan  are  a  fine  pair,  I  must  say! 
I  thought  he  had  some  sense,  and  that  you'd  see  to  it 
that  he  didn't  make  a  mess  of  this  thing.  He's  in  bed 
now  with  a  hole  in  his  arm  and  you've  got  to  go  on 
alone." 

"I'll  do  my  best,  Mr.  Pickering." 

"Don't  call  me  by  name,  you  idiot.  We're  not  ad 
vertising  our  business  from  the  housetops." 


172    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"Certainly  not,"  replied  Bates  humbly. 

The  blood  was  roaring  through  my  head,  and  my 
hands  were  clenched  as  I  stood  there  listening  to  this 
colloquy. 

Pickering's  voice  was — and  is — unmistakable.  There 
was  always  a  purring  softness  in  it.  He  used  to  remind 
me  at  school  of  a  sleek,  complacent  cat,  and  I  hate  cats 
with  particular  loathing. 

"Is  Morgan  lying  or  not  when  he  says  he  shot  him 
self  accidentally  ?"  demanded  Pickering  petulantly. 

"I  only  know  what  I  heard  from  the  gardener  here  at 
the  school.  You'll  understand,  I  hope,  that  I  can't  be 
seen  going  to  Morgan's  house." 

"Of  course  not.  But  he  says  you  haven't  played  fair 
with  him,  that  you  even  attacked  him  a  few  days  after 
Glenarm  came." 

"Yes,  and  he  hit  me  over  the  head  with  a  club.  It 
was  his  indiscretion,  sir.  He  wanted  to  go  through  the 
library  in  broad  daylight,  and  it  wasn't  any  use,  any 
how.  There's  nothing  there." 

"But  I  don't  like  the  looks  of  this  shooting.  Mor 
gan's  sick  and  out  of  his  head.  But  a  fellow  like  Mor 
gan  isn't  likely  to  shoot  himself  accidentally,  and  now 
that  it's  done  the  work's  stopped  and  the  time  is  run 
ning  on.  What  do  you  think  Glenarm  suspects  ?" 

"I  can't  tell,  sir,  but  mighty  little,  I  should  say.  The 


A   PAIR   OF   EAVESDROPPERS          173 

shot  through  the  window  the  first  night  he  was  here 
seemed  to  shake  him  a  trifle,  but  he's  quite  settled  down 
now,  I  should  say,  sir." 

"He  probably  doesn't  spend  much  time  on  this  side 
of  the  fence — doesn't  haunt  the  chapel,  I  fancy  ?" 

"Lord,  no,  sir!  I  hardly  suspect  the  young  gentle 
man  of  being  a  praying  man." 

"You  haven't  seen  him  prowling  about  analyzing  the 
architecture — " 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,  sir.  He  hasn't,  I  should  say,  what 
his  revered  grandfather  called  the  analytical  mind." 

Hearing  yourself  discussed  in  this  frank  fashion  by 
your  own  servant  is,  I  suppose,  a  wholesome  thing  for 
the  spirit.  The  man  who  stands  behind  your  chair  may 
acquire,  in  time,  some  special  knowledge  of  your  men 
tal  processes  by  a  diligent  study  of  the  back  of  your 
head.  But  1  was  not  half  so  angry  with  these  conspira 
tors  as  with  myself,  for  ever  having  entertained  a  single 
generous  thought  toward  Bates.  It  was,  however,  con 
soling  to  know  that  Morgan  was  lying  to  Pickering,  and 
that  my  own  exploits  in  the  house  were  unknown  to  the 
executor. 

Pickering  stamped  his  feet  upon  the  paved  porch 
floor  in  a  way  that  I  remembered  of  old.  It  marked  a 
conclusion,  and  preluded  serious  statements. 

"Now,  Bates,"  he  said,  with  a  ring  of  authority  and 


174    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

speaking  in  a  louder  key  than  he  had  yet  used,  "it's 
your  duty  under  all  the  circumstances  to  help  discover 
the  hidden  assets  of  the  estate.  We've  got  to  pluck  the 
mystery  from  that  architectural  monster  over  there,  and 
the  time  for  doing  it  is  short  enough.  Mr.  Glenarm  was 
a  rich  man.  To  my  own  knowledge  he  had  a  couple  of 
millions,  and  he  couldn't  have  spent  it  all  on  that  house. 
He  reduced  his  bank  account  to  a  few  thousand  dollars 
and  swept  out  his  safety-vault  boxes  with  a  broom  be 
fore  his  last  trip  into  Vermont.  He  didn't  die  with  the 
stuff  in  his  clothes,  did  he?" 

"Lord  bless  me,  no,  sir!  There  was  little  enough 
cash  to  bury  him,  with  you  out  of  the  country  and  me 
alone  with  him." 

"He  was  a  crank  and  I  suppose  he  got  a  lot  of  satis 
faction  out  of  concealing  his  money.  But  this  hunt  for  it 
isn't  funny.  I  supposed,  of  course,  we'd  dig  it  up  be 
fore  Glenarm  got  here  or  I  shouldn't  have  been  in  such 
a  hurry  to  send  for  him.  But  it's  over  there  somewhere, 
or  in  the  grounds.  There  must  be  a  plan  of  the  house 
that  would  help.  I'll  give  you  a  thousand  dollars  the 
day  you  wire  me  you  have  found  any  sort  of  clue." 

"Thank  you,  sir." 

"I  don't  want  thanks,  I  want  the  money  or  securities 
or  whatever  it  is.  I've  got  to  go  back  to  my  car  now, 


A    PAIR    OF    EAVESDROPPERS          175 

and  you'd  better  skip  home.  You  needn't  tell  your 
young  master  that  I've  been  here." 

I  was  trying  hard  to  believe,  as  I  stood  there  with 
clenched  hands  outside  the  chapel  porch,  that  Arthur 
Pickering's  name  was  written  in  the  list  of  directors  of 
one  of  the  greatest  trust  companies  in  America,  and 
that  he  belonged  to  the  most  exclusive  clubs  in  New 
York.  I  had  run  out  for  a  walk  with  only  an  inverness 
over  my  dinner-jacket,  and  I  was  thoroughly  chilled  by 
the  cold  mist.  I  was  experiencing,  too,  an  inner  cold  as 
I  reflected  upon  the  greed  and  perfidy  of  man. 

"Keep  an  eye  on  Morgan/'  said  Pickering. 

"Certainly,  sir." 

"And  be  careful  what  you  write  or  wire." 

"I'll  mind  those  points,  sir.  But  I'd  suggest,  if  you 
please,  sir — " 

"Well  ?"  demanded  Pickering  impatiently. 

"That  you  should  call  at  the  house.  It  would  look 
rather  strange  to  the  young  gentleman  if  you'd  come 
here  and  not  see  him." 

"I  haven't  the  slightest  errand  with  him.  And  be 
sides,  I  haven't  time.  If  he  learns  that  I've  been  here 
you  may  say  that  my  business  was  with  Sister  Theresa 
and  that  I  regretted  very  much  not  having  an  oppor 
tunity  to  call  on  him." 


176  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

The  irony  of  this  was  not  lost  on  Bates,  who  chuckled 
softly.  He  came  out  into  the  open  and  turned  away  to 
ward  the  Glenarm  gate.  Pickering  passed  me,  so  near 
that  I  might  have  put  out  my  hand  and  touched  him, 
and  in  a  moment  I  heard  the  carriage  drive  off  rapidly 
toward  the  village. 

I  heard  Bates  running  home  over  the  snow  and  list 
ened  to  the  clatter  of  the  village  hack  as  it  bore  Picker 
ing  back  to  Annandale. 

Then  out  of  the  depths  of  the  chapel  porch — out  of 
the  depths  of  time  and  space,  it  seemed,  so  dazed  I  stood 
— some  one  came  swiftly  toward  me,  some  one,  light  of 
foot  like  a  woman,  ran  down  the  walk  a  little  way  into 
the  fog  and  paused. 

An  exclamation  broke  from  me. 

"Eavesdropping  for  two !" — it  was  the  voice  of  Olivia. 
"I'd  take  pretty  good  care  of  myself  if  I  were  you, 
Squire  Glenarm.  Good  night !" 

"Good-by !"  I  faltered,  as  she  sped  away  into  the  mist 
toward  the  school. 


CHAPTEE  XIV 

THE  GIRL  IN  GRAY 

My  first  thought  was  to  find  the  crypt  door  and  re 
turn  through  the  tunnel  before  Bates  reached  the  house. 
The  chapel  was  open,  and  by  lighting  matches  I  found 
my  way  to  the  map  and  panel.  I  slipped  through  and 
closed  the  opening;  then  ran  through  the  passage  with 
gratitude  for  the  generous  builder  who  had  given  it  a 
clear  floor  and  an  ample  roof.  In  my  haste  I  miscalcu 
lated  its  length  and  pitched  into  the  steps  under  the 
trap  at  a  speed  that  sent  me  sprawling.  In  a  moment 
more  I  had  jammed  the  trap  into  place  and  was  run 
ning  up  the  cellar  steps,  breathless,  with  my  cap 
smashed  down  over  my  eyes. 

I  heard  Bates  at  the  rear  of  the  house  and  knew  I  Had 
won  the  race  by  a  scratch.  There  was  but  a  moment  in 
which  to  throw  my  coat  and  cap  under  the  divan,  slap 
the  dust  from  my  clothes  and  seat  myself  at  the  great 
table,  where  the  candles  blazed  tranquilly. 

Bates'  step  was  as  steady  as  ever — there  was  not  the 
slightest  hint  of  excitement  in  it — as  he  came  and  stood 
within  the  door. 

177 


178    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"Beg  pardon,  Mr.  Glenarm,  did  you  wish  anything, 
sir?" 

"Oh,  no,  thank  you,  Bates." 

"I  had  stepped  down  to  the  village,  sir,  to  speak  to 
the  grocer.  The  eggs  he  sent  this  morning  were  not 
quite  up  to  the  mark.  I  have  warned  him  not  to  send 
any  of  the  storage  article  to  this  house." 

"That's  right,  Bates."  I  folded  my  arms  to  hide  my 
hands,  which  were  black  from  contact  with  the  passage, 
and  faced  my  man  servant.  My  respect  for  his  rascally 
powers  had  increased  immensely  since  he  gave  me  my 
coffee.  A  contest  with  so  clever  a  rogue  was  worth 
while. 

"I'm  grateful  for  your  good  care  of  me,  Bates.  I  had 
expected  to  perish  of  discomfort  out  here,  but  you  are 
treating  me  like  a  lord." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Glenarm.    I  do  what  I  can,  sir." 

He  brought  fresh  candles  for  the  table  candelabra, 
going  about  with  his  accustomed  noiseless  step.  I  felt 
a  cold  chill  creep  down  my  spine  as  he  passed  behind 
me  on  these  errands.  His  transition  from  the  role  of 
conspirator  to  that  of  my  flawless  servant  was  almost 
too  abrupt. 

I  dismissed  him  as  quickly  as  possible,  and  listened 
to  his  step  through  the  halls  as  he  went  about  locking 
the  doors.  This  was  a  regular  incident,  but  I  was  aware 


THE   GIEL   IN   GRAY  179 

to-night  that  he  exercised  what  seemed  to  me  a  particu 
lar  care  in  settling  the  bolts.  The  locking-up  process 
had  rather  bored  me  before;  to-night  the  snapping  of 
bolts  was  particularly  trying. 

When  I  heard  Bates  climbing  to  his  own  quarters  I 
quietly  went  the  rounds  on  my  own  account  and  found 
everything  as  tight  as  a  drum. 

In  the  cellar  I  took  occasion  to  roll  some  barrels  of 
cement  into  the  end  of  the  corridor,  to  cover  and  block 
the  trap  door.  Bates  had  no  manner  of  business  in  that 
part  of  the  house,  as  the  heating  apparatus  was  under 
the  kitchen  and  accessible  by  an  independent  stairway. 
I  had  no  immediate  use  for  the  hidden  passage  to  the 
chapel — and  I  did  not  intend  that  my  enemies  should 
avail  themselves  of  it.  Morgan,  at  least,  knew  of  it  and, 
while  he  was  not  likely  to  trouble  me  at  once,  I  had  re 
solved  to  guard  every  point  in  our  pleasant  game. 

I  was  tired  enough  to  sleep  when  I  went  to  my  room, 
and  after  an  eventless  night,  woke  to  a  clear  day  and 
keener  air. 

"I'm  going  to  take  a  little  run  into  the  village.  Bates," 
I  remarked  at  breakfast. 

"Very  good,  sir.    The  weather's  quite  cleared." 

"If  any  one  should  call  I'll  be  back  in  an  hour  or  so." 

"Yes,  sir." 

He  turned  his  impenetrable  face  toward  me  as  I  rose. 


180  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

There  was,  of  course,  no  chance  whatever  that  any  one 
would  call  to  see  me;  the  Eeverend  Paul  Stoddard  was 
the  only  human  being,  except  Bates,  Morgan  and  the 
man  who  brought  up  my  baggage,  who  had  crossed  the 
threshold  since  my  arrival. 

I  really  had  an  errand  in  the  village.  I  wished  to 
visit  the  hardware  store  and  buy  some  cartridges,  but 
Pickering's  presence  in  the  community  was  a  disturb 
ing  factor  in  my  mind.  I  wished  to  get  sight  of  him, — 
to  meet  him,  if  possible,  and  see  how  a  man,  whose 
schemes  were  so  deep,  looked  in  the  light  of  day. 

As  I  left  the  grounds  and  gained  the  highway  Stod 
dard  fell  in  with  me. 

"Well,  Mr.  Glenarm,  I'm  glad  to  see  you  abroad  so 
early.  With  that  library  of  yours  the  temptation  must 
be  strong  to  stay  within  doors.  But  a  man's  got  to  sub 
ject  himself  to  the  sun  and  wind.  Even  a  good  wetting 
now  and  then  is  salutary." 

"I  try  to  get  out  every  day,"  I  answered.  "But  I've 
chiefly  limited  myself  to  the  grounds." 

"Well,  it's  a  fine  estate.  The  lake  is  altogether 
charming  in  summer.  I  quite  envy  you  your  fortune." 

He  walked  with  a  long  swinging  stride,  his  hands 
thrust  deep  into  his  overcoat  pockets.  It  was  difficult 
to  accept  the  idea  of  so  much  physical  strength  being 
wasted  in  the  mere  business  of  saying  prayers  in  a  girls' 


THE   GIRL  IN   GRAY  181 

school.  Here  was  a  fellow  who  should  have  been  cap 
tain  of  a  ship  or  a  soldier,  a  leader  of  forlorn  hopes.  I 
felt  sure  there  must  be  a  weakness  of  some  sort  in  him. 
Quite  possibly  it  would  prove  to  be  a  mild  estheticism 
that  delighted  in  the  savor  of  incense  and  the  mournful 
cadence  of  choral  vespers.  He  declined  a  cigar  and  this 
rather  increased  my  suspicions. 

The  village  hack,  filled  with  young  women,  passed  at 
a  gallop,  bound  for  the  station,  and  we  took  off  our  hats. 

"Christmas  holidays,"  explained  the  chaplain.  "Prac 
tically  all  the  students  go  home." 

"Lucky  kids,  to  have  a  Christmas  to  go  home  to  I" 

"I  suppose  Mr.  Pickering  got  away  last  night?"  he 
observed,  and  my  pulse  quickened  at  the  name. 

"I  haven't  seen  him  yet,"  I  answered  guardedly. 

"Then  of  course  he  hasn't  gone!"  and  these  words, 
uttered  in  the  big  clergyman's  deep  tones,  seemed  wholly 
plausible.  There  was,  to  be  sure,  nothing  so  unlikely  as 
that  Arthur  Pickering,  executor  of  my  grandfather's 
estate,  would  come  to  Glenarm  without  seeing  me. 

"Sister  Theresa  told  me  this  morning  he  was  here. 
He  called  on  her  and  Miss  Devereux  last  night.  I 
haven't  seen  him  myself.  I  thought  possibly  I  might 
run  into  him  in  the  village.  His  car's  very  likely  on  the 
station  switch." 

"No  doubt  we  shall  find  him  there,"  I  answered  easily. 


182    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

The  Annandale  station  presented  an  appearance  of 
unusual  gaiety  when  we  reached  the  main  street  of  the 
village.  There,  to  be  sure,  lay  a  private  car  on  the 
siding,  and  on  the  platform  was  a  group  of  twenty  or 
more  girls,  with  several  of  the  brown-habited  Sisters  of 
St.  Agatha.  There  was  something  a  little  foreign  in 
the  picture;  the  girls  in  their  bright  colors  talking 
gaily,  the  Sisters  in  their  somber  garb  hovering  about, 
suggesting  France  or  Italy  rather  than  Indiana. 

"I  came  here  with  the  idea  that  St.  Agatha's  was  a 
charity  school,"  I  remarked  to  the  chaplain. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it !  Sister  Theresa  is  really  a  swell,  you 
know,  and  her  school  is  hard  to  get  into." 

"I'm  glad  you  warned  me  in  time.  I  had  thought  of 
sending  over  a  sack  of  flour  occasionally,  or  a  few  bolts 
of  calico  to  help  on  the  good  work.  You've  saved  my 
life." 

"I  probably  have.  I  might  mention  your  good  inten 
tions  to  Sister  Theresa." 

"Pray  don't.  If  there's  any  danger  of  meeting  her 
on  that  platform — " 

"No;  she  isn't  coming  down,  I'm  sure.  But  yon 
ought  to  know  her, — if  you  will  pardon  me.  And  Miss 
Devereux  is  charming, — but  really  I  don't  mean  to  be 
annoying." 

"Not  in  the  least.     But  under  the  circumstances, — 


THE   GIRL   IN   GEAY  183 

the  will  and  my  probationary  year, — you  can  under 
stand—" 

"Certainly.  A  man's  affairs  are  his  own,  Mr.  Glen- 
arm." 

We  stepped  upon  the  platform.  The  private  car  was 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  station  and  had  been 
switched  into  a  siding  of  the  east  and  west  road.  Pick 
ering  was  certainly  getting  on.  The  private  car,  even 
more  than  the  yacht,  is  the  symbol  of  plutocracy,  and 
gaping  rustics  were  evidently  impressed  by  its  grandeur. 
As  I  lounged  across  the  platform  with  Stoddard,  Pick 
ering  came  out  into  the  vestibule  of  his  car,  followed  by 
two  ladies  and  an  elderly  gentleman.  They  all  descend 
ed  and  began  a  promenade  of  the  plank  walk. 

Pickering  saw  me  an  instant  later  and  came  up  hur 
riedly,  with  outstretched  hand. 

"This  is  indeed  good  fortune !  We  dropped  off  here 
last  night  rather  unexpectedly  to  rest  a  hot-box  and 
should  have  been  picked  up  by  the  midnight  express  for 
Chicago;  but  there  was  a  miscarriage  of  orders  some 
where  and  we  now  have  to  wait  for  the  nine  o'clock,  and 
it's  late.  If  I'd  known  how  much  behind  it  was  I 
should  have  run  out  to  see  you.  How  are  things  go- 
ing?" 

"As  smooth  as  a  whistle !  It  really  isn't  so  bad  when 
you  face  it.  And  the  fact  is  I'm  actually  at  work." 


184    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"That's  splendid.  The  year  will  go  fast  enough, 
never  fear.  I  suppose  you  pine  for  a  little  human  so 
ciety  now  and  then.  A  man  can  never  strike  the  right 
medium  in  such  things.  In  New  York  we  are  all  rushed 
to  death.  I  sometimes  feel  that  I'd  like  a  little  rustica 
tion  myself.  I  get  nervous,  and  working  for  corpora 
tions  is  wearing.  The  old  gentleman  there  is  Taylor, 
president  of  the  Interstate  and  Western.  The  ladies 
are  his  wife  and  her  sister.  I'd  like  to  introduce 
you."  He  ran  his  eyes  over  my  corduroys  and  leggings 
amiably.  He  had  not  in  years  addressed  me  so  pleas 
antly. 

Stoddard  had  left  me  to  go  to  the  other  end  of  the 
platform  to  speak  to  some  of  the  students.  I  followed 
Pickering  rather  loathly  to  where  the  companions  of 
his  travels  were  pacing  to  and  fro  in  the  crisp  morning 
air. 

I  laugh  still  whenever  I  remember  that  morning  at 
Annandale  station.  As  soon  as  Pickering  had  got  me 
well  under  way  in  conversation  with  Taylor,  he  excused 
himself  hurriedly  and  went  off,  as  I  assumed,  to  be  sure 
the  station  agent  had  received  orders  for  attaching  the 
private  car  to  the  Chicago  express.  Taylor  proved  to  be 
a  supercilious  person, — I  believe  they  call  him  Chilly 
Billy  at  the  Metropolitan  Club, — and  our  efforts  to  con- 


THE   GIRL   IN   GRAY  185 

verse  were  pathetically  unfruitful.  He  asked  me  the 
value  of  land  in  my  county,  and  as  my  ignorance  on  this 
subject  was  vast  and  illimitable,  I  could  see  that  he  was 
forming  a  low  opinion  of  my  character  and  intelligence. 
The  two  ladies  stood  by,  making  no  concealment  of  their 
impatience.  Their  eyes  were  upon  the  girls  from  St. 
Agatha's  on  the  other  platform,  whom  they  could  see 
beyond  me.  I  had  jumped  the  conversation  from  In 
diana  farm-lands  to  the  recent  disorders  in  Bulgaria, 
which  interested  me  more,  when  Mrs.  Taylor  spoke 
abruptly  to  her  sister. 

"That's  she — the  one  in  the  gray  coat,  talking  to  the 
clergyman.  She  came  a  moment  ago  in  the  carriage." 
"The  one  with  the  umbrella  ?  I  thought  you  said — " 
Mrs.  Taylor  glanced  at  her  sister  warningly,  and 
they  both  looked  at  me.  Then  they  sought  to  detach 
themselves  and  moved  away.  There  was  some  one  on 
the  farther  side  of  the  platform  whom  they  wished  to  see, 
and  Taylor,  not  understanding  their  manoeuver — he  was 
really  anxious,  I  think,  not  to  be  left  alone  with  me — 
started  down  the  platform  after  them,  I  following.  Mrs. 
Taylor  and  her  sister  walked  to  the  end  of  the  platform 
and  looked  across,  a  biscuit-toss  away,  to  where  Stod- 
dard  stood  talking  to  the  girl  I  had  already  heard  de 
scribed  as  wearing  a  gray  coat  and  carrying  an  umbrella. 


The  girl  in  gray  crossed  the  track  quickly  and  ad 
dressed  the  two  women  cordially.  Taylor's  back  was  to 
her  and  he  was  growing  eloquent  in  a  mild  well-bred 
way  over  the  dullness  of  our  statesmen  in  not  seeing  the 
advantages  that  would  accrue  to  the  United  States  in 
fostering  our  shipping  industry.  His  wife,  her  sister 
and  the  girl  in  gray  were  so  near  that  I  could  hear 
plainly  what  they  were  saying.  They  were  referring 
apparently  to  the  girl's  refusal  of  an  invitation  to  ac 
company  them  to  California. 

"So  you  can't  go — it's  too  bad !  We  had  hoped  that 
when  you  really  saw  us  on  the  way  you  would  relent," 
said  Mrs.  Taylor. 

"But  there  are  many  reasons;  and  above  all  Sister 
Theresa  needs  me." 

It  was  the  voice  of  Olivia,  a  little  lower,  a  little  more 
restrained  than  I  had  known  it. 

"But  think  of  the  rose  gardens  that  are  waiting  for 
us  out  there !"  said  the  other  lady.  They  were  showing 
her  the  deference  that  elderly  women  always  have  for 
pretty  girls. 

"Alas,  and  again  alas!"  exclaimed  Olivia.  "Please 
don't  make  it  harder  for  me  than  necessary.  But  I  gave 
my  promise  a  year  ago  to  spend  these  holidays  in  Cin 
cinnati." 


THE   GIRL  IN   GRAY  187 

She  ignored  me  wholly,  and  after  shaking  hands  with 
the  ladies  returned  to  the  other  platform.  I  wondered 
whether  she  was  overlooking  Taylor  on  purpose  to  cut 
me. 

Taylor  was  still  at  his  lecture  on  the  needs  of  our 
American  merchant  marine  when  Pickering  passed  hur 
riedly,  crossed  the  track  and  began  speaking  earnestly 
to  the  girl  in  gray. 

"The  American  flag  should  command  the  seas.  What 
we  need  is  not  more  battle-ships  but  more  freight  car 
riers — "  Taylor  was  saying. 

But  I  was  watching  Olivia  Gladys  Armstrong.  In  a 
long  skirt,  with  her  hair  caught  up  under  a  gray  toque 
that  matched  her  coat  perfectly,  she  was  not  my  Olivia 
of  the  tam-o'-shanter,  who  had  pursued  the  rabbit ;  nor 
yet  the  unsophisticated  school-girl,  who  had  suffered  my 
idiotic  babble;  nor,  again,  the  dreamy  rapt  organist  of 
the  chapel.  She  was  a  grown  woman  with  at  least 
twenty  summers  to  her  credit,  and  there  was  about  her 
an  air  of  knowing  the  world,  and  of  not  being  at  all  a 
person  one  would  make  foolish  speeches  to.  She  spoke 
to  Pickering  gravely.  Once  she  smiled  dolefully  and 
shook  her  head,  and  I  vaguely  strove  to  remember  where 
I  had  seen  that  look  in  her  eyes  before.  Her  gold  beads, 
which  I  had  once  carried  in  my  pocket,  were  clasped 


188    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

tight  about  the  close  collar  of  her  dress ;  and  I  was  glad, 
very  glad,  that  I  had  ever  touched  anything  that  be 
longed  to  her. 

"As  the  years  go  by  we  are  going  to  dominate  trade 
more  and  more.  Our  manufactures  already  lead  the 
world,  and  what  we  make  we've  got  to  sell,  haven't  we  ?" 
demanded  Taylor. 

"Certainly,  sir,"  I  answered  warmly. 

Who  was  Olivia  Gladys  Armstrong  and  what  was 
Arthur  Pickering's  business  with  her?  And  what  was 
it  she  had  said  to  me  that  evening  when  I  had  found  her 
playing  on  the  chapel  organ?  So  much  happened  that 
day  that  I  had  almost  forgotten,  and,  indeed,  I  had 
tried  to  forget  I  had  made  a  fool  of  myself  for  the  edi 
fication  of  an  amusing  little  school-girl.  "I  see  you 
prefer  to  ignore  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  you,"  she  had 
said;  but  if  I  had  thought  of  this  at  all  it  had  been 
with  righteous  self-contempt.  Or,  I  may  have  flattered 
my  vanity  with  the  reflection  that  she  had  eyed  me — 
her  hero,  perhaps — with  wistful  admiration  across  the 
wall. 

Meanwhile  the  Chicago  express  roared  into  Annan- 
dale  and  the  private  car  was  attached.  Taylor  watched 
the  trainmen  with  the  cool  interest  of  a  man  for  whom 
the  proceeding  had  no  novelty,  while  he  continued  to 


THE   GIEL  IN   GEAY  189 

dilate  upon  the  nation's  commercial  opportunities.  I 
turned  perforce,  and  walked  with  him  back  toward  the 
station,  where  Mrs.  Taylor  and  her  sister  were  talking 
to  the  conductor. 

Pickering  came  running  across  the  platform  with  sev 
eral  telegrams  in  his  hand.  The  express  had  picked  up 
the  car  and  was  ready  to  continue  its  westward  journey. 

"I'm  awfully  sorry,  Glenarm,  that  our  stop's  so 
short," — and  Pickering's  face  wore  a  worried  look  as  he 
addressed  me,  his  eyes  on  the  conductor. 

"How  far  do  you  go?"  I  asked. 

"California.  We  have  interests  out  there  and  I  have 
to  attend  some  stock-holders'  meetings  in  Colorado  in 
January." 

"Ah,  you  business  men !  You  business  men !"  I  said 
reproachfully.  I  wished  to  call  him  a  blackguard  then 
and  there,  and  it  was  on  my  tongue  to  do  so,  but  I  con 
cluded  that  to  wait  until  he  had  shown  his  hand  fully 
was  the  better  game. 

The  ladies  entered  the  car  and  I  shook  hands  with 
Taylor,  who  threatened  to  send  me  his  pamphlet  on 
The  Needs  of  American  Shipping,  when  he  got  back  to 
New  York. 

"It's  too  bad  she  wouldn't  go  with  us.  Poor  girl! 
this  must  be  a  dreary  hole  for  her;  she  deserves  wider 


190    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

horizons/''  he  said  to  Pickering,  who  helped  him  upon 
the  platform  of  the  car  with  what  seemed  to  be  unneces 
sary  precipitation. 

"You  little  know  us/'  I  declared,,  for  Pickering's 
benefit.  "Life  at  Annandale  is  nothing  if  not  exciting. 
The  people  here  are  indifferent  marksmen  or  there'd  be 
murders  galore." 

"Mr.  Glenarm  is  a  good  deal  of  a  wag,"  explained 
Pickering  dryly,  swinging  himself  aboard  as  the  train 
started. 

"Yes ;  it's  my  humor  that  keeps  me  alive,"  I  respond 
ed,  and  taking  off  my  hat,  I  saluted  Arthur  Pickering 
with  my  broadest  salaam. 


CHAPTEK  XV 

I  MAKE  AN  ENGAGEMENT 

The  south-bound  train  had  not  arrived  and  as  I 
turned  away  the  station-agent  again  changed  its  time 
on  the  bulletin  board.  It  was  now  due  in  ten  minutes. 
A  few  students  had  boarded  the  Chicago  train,  but  a 
greater  number  still  waited  on  the  farther  platform. 
The  girl  in  gray  was  surrounded  by  half  a  dozen  stu 
dents,  all  talking  animatedly.  As  I  walked  toward  them 
I  could  not  justify  my  stupidity  in  mistaking  a  grown 
woman  for  a  school-girl  of  fifteen  or  sixteen ;  but  is  was 
the  tam-o'-shanter,  the  short  skirt,  the  youthful  joy  in 
the  outdoor  world  that  had  disguised  her  as  effectually 
as  Eosalind  to  the  eyes  of  Orlando  in  the  forest  of  Ar- 
den.  She  was  probably  a  teacher, — quite  likely  the 
teacher  of  music,  I  argued,  who  had  amused  herself 
at  my  expense. 

It  had  seemed  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to  ap 
proach  her  with  an  apology  or  a  farewell,  but  those  few 
inches  added  to  her  skirt  and  that  pretty  gray  toque 
substituted  for  the  tam-o'-shanter  set  up  a  barrier  that 
did  not  yield  at  all  as  I  drew  nearer.  At  the  last  mo- 

191 


192  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

ment,  as  I  crossed  the  track  and  stepped  upon  the  other 
platform,  it  occurred  to  me  that  while  I  might  have 
some  claim  upon  the  attention  of  Olivia  Gladys  Arm 
strong,  a  wayward  school-girl  of  athletic  tastes,  I  had 
none  whatever  upon  a  person  whom  it  was  proper  to 
address  as  Miss  Armstrong, — who  was,  I  felt  sure,  quite 
capable  of  snubbing  me  if  snubbing  fell  in  with  her 
mood. 

She  glanced  toward  me  and  bowed  instantly.  Her 
young  companions  withdrew  to  a  conservative  distance ; 
and  I  will  say  this  for  the  St.  Agatha  girls :  their  man 
ners  are  beyond  criticism,  and  an  affable  discretion  is 
one  of  their  most  admirable  traits. 

"I  didn't  know  they  ever  grew  up  so  fast, — in  a  day 
and  a  night !" 

I  was  glad  I  remembered  the  number  of  beads  in  her 
chain ;  the  item  seemed  at  once  io  become  important. 

"It's  the  air,  I  suppose.  It's  praised  by  excellent 
critics,  as  you  may  learn  from  the  catalogue." 

"But  you  are  going  to  an  ampler  ether,  a  diviner  air. 
You  have  attained  the  beatific  state  and  at  once  take 
flight.  If  they  confer  perfection  like  an  academic  de 
gree  at  St.  Agatha's,  then — " 

I  had  never  felt  so  stupidly  helpless  in  my  life. 
There  were  a  thousand  things  I  wished  to  say  to  her; 
there  were  countless  questions  I  wished  to  ask;  but  her 


I   MAKE   AN   ENGAGEMENT  193 

calmness  and  poise  were  disconcerting.  She  had  not, 
apparently,  the  slightest  curiosity  about  me;  and  there 
was  no  reason  why  she  should  have — I  knew  that  well 
enough !  Her  eyes  met  mine  easily ;  their  azure  depths 
puzzled  me.  She  was  almost,  but  not  quite,  some  one  I 
had  seen  before,  and  it  was  not  my  woodland  Olivia. 
Her  eyes,  the  soft  curve  of  her  cheek,  the  light  in 
her  hair, — but  the  memory  of  another  time,  another 
place,  another  girl,  lured  only  to  baffle  me. 

She  laughed, — a  little  murmuring  laugh. 

"I'll  never  tell  if  you  won't,"  she  said. 

"But  I  don't  see  how  that  helps  me  with  you  ?" 

"It  certainly  does  not !  That  is  a  much  more  serious 
matter,  Mr.  Glenarm." 

"And  the  worst  of  it  is  that  I  haven't  a  single  thing 
to  say  for  myself.  It  wasn't  the  not  knowing  that  was 
so  utterly  stupid — " 

"Certainly  not !  It  was  talking  that  ridiculous  twad 
dle.  It  was  trying  to  flirt  with  a  silly  school-girl.  What 
will  do  for  fifteen  is  somewhat  vacuous  for — " 

She  paused  abruptly,  colored  and  laughed. 

"I  am  twenty-seven !" 

"And  I  am  just  the  usual  age,"  she  said. 

"Ages  don't  count,  but  time  is  important.  There  are 
many  things  I  wish  you'd  tell  me, — you  who  hold  the 
key  of  the  gate  of  mystery." 


194  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"Then  you'll  have  to  pick  the  lock  !" 

She  laughed  lightly.  The  somber  Sisters  patrolling 
the  platform  with  their  charges  heeded  us  little. 

"I  had  no  idea  you  knew  Arthur  Pickering — when 
you  were  just  Olivia  in  the  tam-o'-shanter." 

"Maybe  you  think  he  wouldn't  have  cared  for  my 
acquaintance — as  Olivia  in  the  tam-o'-shanter.  Men 
are  very  queer !" 

"But  Arthur  Pickering  is  an  old  friend  of  mine." 

"So  he  told  me." 

"We  were  neighbors  in  our  youth." 

"I  believe  I  have  heard  him  mention  it." 

"And  we  did  our  prep  school  together,  and  then 
parted !" 

"You  tell  exactly  the  same  story,  so  it  must  be  true. 
He  went  to  college  and  you  went  to  Tech." 

"And  you  knew  him —  ?"  I  began,  my  curiosity  thor 
oughly  aroused. 

"Not  at  college,  any  more  than  I  knew  you  at  Tech." 

"The  train's  coming,"  I  said  earnestly,  "and  I  wish 
you  would  tell  me — when  I  shall  see  you  again !" 

"Before  we  part  for  ever  ?"  There  was  a  mischievous 
hint  of  the  Olivia  in  short  skirts  in  her  tone. 

"Please  don't  suggest  it!  Our  times  have  been 
strange  and  few.  There  was  that  first  night,  when  you 
called  to  me  from  the  lake." 


I   MAKE   AN   ENGAGEMENT  195 

"How  impertinent !  How  dare  you — remember  that?" 

"And  there  was  that  other  encounter  at  the  chapel 
porch.  Neither  you  nor  I  had  the  slightest  business 
there.  I  admit  my  own  culpability." 

She  colored  again. 

"But  you  spoke  as  though  you  understood  what  you 
must  have  heard  there.  It  is  important  for  me  to  know. 
I  have  a  right  to  know  just  wHat  you  meant  by  that 
warning." 

Real  distress  showed  in  her  face  for  an  instant.  The 
agent  and  his  helpers  rushed  the  last  baggage  down  the 
platform,  and  the  rails  hummed  their  warning  of  the 
approaching  train. 

"I  was  eavesdropping  on  my  own  account,"  she  said 
hurriedly  and  with  a  note  of  finality.  "I  was  there  by 
intention,  and" — there  was  another  hint  of  the  tam-o'- 
shanter  in  the  mirth  that  seemed  to  bubble  for  a  mo 
ment  in  her  throat — "it's  too  bad  you  didn't  see  me,  for 
I  had  on  my  prettiest  gown,  and  the  fog  wasn't  good  for 
it.  But  you  know  as  much  of  what  was  said  there  as  I 
do.  You  are  a  man,,  and  I  have  heard  that  you  have  had 
some  experience  in  taking  care  of  yourself,  Mr.  Glen- 
arm." 

"To  be  sure ;  but  there  are  times — " 

"Yes,  there  are  times  when  the  odds  seem  rather 
heavy.  I  have  noticed  that  myself." 


196:  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

She  smiled,  but  for  an  instant  the  sad  look  came  into 
her  eyes, — a  look  that  vaguely  but  insistently  suggested 
another  time  and  place. 

"I  want  you  to  come  back,"  I  said  boldly,  for  the 
train  was  very  near,  and  I  felt  that  the  eyes  of  the  Sis 
ters  were  upon  us.  "You  can  not  go  away  where  I  shall 
not  find  you !" 

I  did  not  know  who  this  girl  was,  her  home,  or  her 
relation  to  the  school,  but  I  knew  that  her  life  and 
mine  had  touched  strangely;  that  her  eyes  were  blue, 
and  that  her  voice  had  called  to  me  twice  through  the 
dark,  in  mockery  once  and  in  warning  another  time, 
and  that  the  sense  of  having  known  her  before,  of  hav 
ing  looked  into  her  eyes,  haunted  me.  The  youth  in 
her  was  so  luring;  she  was  at  once  so  frank  and  so 
guarded, — breeding  and  the  taste  and  training  of  an 
ampler  world  than  that  of  Annandale  were  so  evidenced 
in  the  witchery  of  her  voice,  in  the  grace  and  ease  that 
marked  her  every  motion,  in  the  soft  gray  tone  of  hat, 
dress  and  gloves,  that  a  new  mood,  a  new  hope  and 
faith  sang  in  my  pulses.  There,  on  that  platform,  I  felt 
again  the  sweet  heartache  I  had  known  as  a  boy,  when 
spring  first  warmed  the  Vermont  hillsides  and  the 
mountains  sent  the  last  snows  singing  in  joy  of  their 
release  down  through  the  brook-beds  and  into  the  wak 
ened  heart  of  youth. 


She  met  my  eyes  steadily. 

"If  I  thought  there  was  the  slightest  chance  of  my 
ever  seeing  you  again  I  shouldn't  be  talking  to  you 
here.  But  I  thought,  I  thought  it  would  be  good  fun 
to  see  how  you  really  talked  to  a  grown-up.  So  I  am 
risking  the  displeasure  of  these  good  Sisters  just  to  test 
your  conversational  powers,  Mr.  Glenarm.  You  see  how 
perfectly  frank  I  am." 

"But  you  forget  that  I  can  follow  you ;  I  don't  intend 
to  sit  down  in  this  hole  and  dream  about  you.  You 
can't  go  anywhere  but  I  shall  follow  and  find  you." 

"That  is  finely  spoken,  Squire  Glenarm !  But  I  im 
agine  you  are  hardly  likely  to  go  far  from  Glenarm 
very  soon.  It  isn't,  of  course,  any  of  my  affair ;  and  yet 
I  don't  hesitate  to  say  that  I  feel  perfectly  safe  from 
pursuit!" — and  she  laughed  her  little  low  laugh  that 
was  delicious  in  its  mockery. 

I  felt  the  blood  mounting  to  my  cheek.  She  knew, 
then,  that  I  was  virtually  a  prisoner  at  Glenarm,  and 
for  once  in  my  life,  at  least,  I  was  ashamed  of  my  folly 
that  had  caused  my  grandfather  to  hold  and  check  me 
from  the  grave,  as  he  had  never  been  able  to  control  me 
in  his  life.  The  whole  countryside  knew  why  I  was  at 
Glenarm,  and  that  did  not  matter;  but  my  heart  rebelled 
at  the  thought  that  this  girl  knew  and  mocked  me  with 
her  knowledge. 


198    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"I  shall  see  you  Christmas  Eve,"  I  said,  "wherever 
you  may  be." 

"In  three  days?  Then  you  will  come  to  my  Christ 
mas  Eve  party.  I  shall  be  delighted  to  see  you, — and 
flattered!  Just  think  of  throwing  away  a  fortune  to 
satisfy  one's  curiosity !  I'm  surprised  at  you,  but  grati 
fied,  on  the  whole,  Mr.  Glenarm  I" 

"I  shall  give  more  than  a  fortune,  I  shall  give  the 
honor  I  have  pledged  to  my  grandfather's  memory  to 
hear  your  voice  again." 

"That  is  a  great  deal, — for  so  small  a  voice;  but 
money,  fortune!  A  man  will  risk  his  honor  readily 
enough,  but  his  fortune  is  a  more  serious  matter.  I'm 
sorry  we  shall  not  meet  again.  It  would  be  pleasant  to 
discuss  the  subject  further.  It  interests  me  particu 
larly." 

"In  three  days  I  shall  see  you,"  I  said. 

She  was  instantly  grave. 

"No!  Please  do  not  try.  It  would  be  a  great  mis 
take.  And,  anyhow,  you  can  hardly  come  to  my  party 
without  being  invited." 

"That  matter  is  closed.  Wherever  you  are  on  Christ 
mas  Eve  I  shall  find  you,"  I  said,  and  felt  my  heart 
leap,  knowing  that  I  meant  what  I  said. 

"Good-by,"  she  said,  turning  away.  "I'm  sorry  I 
shan't  ever  chase  rabbits  at  Glenarm  any  more." 


199 

"Or  paddle  a  canoe,  or  play  wonderful  celestial  music 
on  the  organ." 

"Or  be  an  eavesdropper  or  hear  pleasant  words  from 
the  master  of  Glenarm — " 

"But  I  don't  know  where  you  are  going — you  haven't 
told  me  anything — you  are  slipping  out  into  the 
world—" 

She  did  not  hear  or  would  not  answer.  She  turned 
away,  and  was  at  once  surrounded  by  a  laughing  throng 
that  crowded  about  the  train.  Two  brown-robed  Sisters 
stood  like  sentinels,  one  at  either  side,  as  she  stepped 
into  the  car.  I  was  conscious  of  a  feeling  that  from  the 
depths  of  their  hoods  they  regarded  me  with  un-Chris- 
tian  disdain.  Through  the  windows  I  could  see  the 
students  fluttering  to  seats,  and  the  girl  in  gray  seemed 
to  be  marshaling  them.  The  gray  hat  appeared  at  a 
window  for  an  instant,  and  a  smiling  face  gladdened,  I 
am  sure,  the  guardians  of  the  peace  at  St.  Agatha's,  for 
whom  it  was  intended. 

The  last  trunk  crashed  into  the  baggage  car,  every 
window  framed  for  a  moment  a  girl's  face,  and  the 
train  was  gone. 


THE  PASSING  OF  OLIVIA 

Bates  brought  a  great  log  and  rolled  it  upon  exactly 
the  right  spot  on  the  andirons,  and  a  great  constellation 
of  sparks  thronged  up  the  chimney.  The  old  relic  of  a 
house — I  called  the  establishment  by  many  names,  but 
this  was,  I  think,  my  favorite — could  be  heated  in  all 
its  habitable  parts,  as  Bates  had  demonstrated.  The 
halls  were  of  glacial  temperature  these  cold  days,  but 
my  room  above,  the  dining-room  and  the  great  library 
were  comfortable  enough.  I  threw  down  a  book  and 
knocked  the  ashes  from  my  pipe. 

"Bates!" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"I  think  my  spiritual  welfare  is  in  jeopardy.  I  need 
counsel, — a  spiritual  adviser." 

"I'm  afraid  that's  beyond  me,  sir." 

"I'd  like  to  invite  Mr.  Stoddard  to  dinner  so  I  may 
discuss  my  soul's  health  with  him  at  leisure." 

"Certainly^  Mr.  Glenarm." 
200 


THE   PASSING   OF   OLIVIA  201 

"But  it  occurs  to  me  that  probably  the  terms  of  Mr. 
Glenarm's  will  point  to  my  complete  sequestration  here. 
In  other  words,  I  may  forfeit  my  rights  by  asking  a 
guest  to  dinner." 

He  pondered  the  matter  for  a  moment,  then  replied : 

"I  should  think,  sir, — as  you  ask  my  opinion, — that 
in  the  case  of  a  gentleman  in  holy  orders  there  would 
be  no  impropriety.  Mr.  Stoddard  is  a  fine  gentleman; 
I  heard  your  late  grandfather  speak  of  him  very 
highly." 

"That,  I  imagine,  is  hardly  conclusive  in  the  matter. 
There  is  the  executor — " 

"To  be  sure;  I  hadn't  considered  him." 

"Well,  you'd  better  consider  him.  He's  the  court  of 
last  resort,  isn't  he  ?" 

"Well,  of  course,  that's  one  way  of  looking  at  it, 
sir." 

"I  suppose  there's  no  chance  of  Mr.  Pickering's  drop 
ping  in  on  us  now  and  then." 

He  gazed  at  me  steadily,  unblinkingly  and  with  en 
tire  respect. 

"He's  a  good  deal  of  a  traveler,  Mr.  Pickering  is.  He 
passed  through  only  this  morning,  so  the  mail-boy  told 
me.  You  may  have  met  him  at  the  station." 

"Oh,  yes ;  to  be  sure ;  so  I  did !"  I  replied.    I  was  not 


202  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

as  good  a  liar  as  Bates;  and  there  was  nothing  to  be 
gained  by  denying  that  I  had  met  the  executor  in  the 
village.  "I  had  a  very  pleasant  talk  with  him.  He  was 
on  the  way  to  California  with  several  friends." 

"That  is  quite  his  way,  I  understand, — private  cars 
and  long  journeys  about  the  country.  A  very  success 
ful  man  is  Mr.  Pickering.  Your  grandfather  had  great 
confidence  in  him,  did  Mr.  Glenarm." 

"Ah,  yes !  A  fine  judge  of  character  my  grandfather 
was !  I  guess  John  Marshall  Glenarm  could  spot  a  ras 
cal  about  as  far  as  any  man  in  his  day." 

I  felt  like  letting  myself  go  before  this  masked  scoun 
drel.  The  density  of  his  mask  was  an  increasing  won 
der  to  me.  Bates  was  the  most  incomprehensible  hu 
man  being  I  had  ever  known.  I  had  been  torn  with  a 
thousand  conflicting  emotions  since  I  overheard  him  dis 
cussing  the  state  of  affairs  at  Glenarm  House  with 
Pickering  in  the  chapel  porch;  and  Pickering's  ac 
quaintance  with  the  girl  in  gray  brought  new  elements 
into  the  affair  that  added  to  my  uneasiness.  But  here 
was  a  treasonable  dog  on  whom  the  stress  of  conspiracy 
had  no  outward  effect  whatever. 

It  was  an  amazing  situation,  but  it  called  for  calm 
ness  and  eternal  vigilance.  With  every  hour  my  resolu 
tion  grew  to  stand  fast  and  fight  it  out  on  my  own  ac- 


THE   PASSING   OF   OLIVIA  203 

count  without  outside  help.  A  thousand  times  during 
the  afternoon  I  had  heard  the  voice  of  the  girl  in  gray 
saying  to  me:  "You  are  a  man,  and  I  have  heard  that 
you  have  had  some  experience  in  taking  care  of  yourself, 
Mr.  Glenarm." 

It  was  both  a  warning  and  a  challenge,  and  the  mem 
ory  of  the  words  was  at  once  sobering  and  cheering. 

Bates  waited.  Of  him,  certainly,  I  should  ask  no 
questions  touching  Olivia  Armstrong.  To  discuss  her 
with  a  blackguard  servant  even  to  gain  answers  to  baf 
fling  questions  about  her  was  not  to  my  liking.  And, 
thank  God !  I  taught  myself  one  thing,  if  nothing 
more,  in  those  days  at  Glenarm  House:  I  learned  to 
bide  my  time. 

"I'll  give  you  a  note  to  Mr.  Stoddard  in  the  morning. 
You  may  go  now." 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  note  was  written  and  despatched.  The  chaplain 
was  not  at  his  lodgings,  and  Bates  reported  that  he  had 
left  the  message.  The  answer  came  presently  by  the 
hand  of  the  Scotch  gardener,  Ferguson,  a  short,  wiry, 
raw-boned  specimen.  I  happened  to  open  the  door  my 
self,  and  brought  him  into  the  library  until  I  could  read 
Stoddard's  reply.  Ferguson  had,  I  thought,  an  uneasy 
eye,  and  his  hair,  of  an  ugly  carrot  color,  annoyed  me. 


204    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

Mr.  Paul  Stoddard  presented  his  compliments  and 
would  be  delighted  to  dine  with  me.  He  wrote  a  large 
even  hand,  as  frank  and  open  as  himself. 

"That  is  all,  Ferguson/'  And  the  gardener  took  him 
self  off. 

Thus  it  came  about  that  Stoddard  and  I  faced  each 
other  across  the  table  in  the  refectory  that  same  even 
ing  under  the  lights  of  a  great  candelabrum  which 
Bates  had  produced  from  the  store-room  below.  And 
I  may  say  here,  that  while  there  was  a  slight  hitch  some 
times  in  the  delivery  of  supplies  from  the  village; 
while  the  fish  which  Bates  caused  to  be  shipped  from 
Chicago  for  delivery  every  Friday  morning  failed  once 
or  twice,  and  while  the  grape-fruit  for  breakfast 
was  not  always  what  it  should  have  been, — the  sup 
ply  of  candles  seemed  inexhaustible.  They  were  pro 
duced  in  every  shade  and  size.  There  were  enormous 
ones,  such  as  I  had  never  seen  outside  of  a  Eussian 
church, — and  one  of  the  rooms  in  the  cellar  was  filled 
with  boxes  of  them.  The  House  of  a  Thousand  Can 
dles  deserved  and  proved  its  name. 

Bates  had  certainly  risen  to  the  occasion.  Silver  and 
crystal  of  which  I  had  not  known  before  glistened  on 
the  table,  and  on  the  sideboard  two  huge  candelabra 
added  to  the  festival  air  of  the  little  room. 


THE   PASSING   OF   OLIVIA  205 

Stoddard  laughed  as  he  glanced  about. 

"Here  I  have  been  feeling  sorry  for  you,  and  yet  you 
are  living  like  a  prince.  I  didn't  know  there  was  so 
much  splendor  in  all  Wabana  County." 

"I'm  a  trifle  dazzled  myself.  Bates  has  tapped  a  new 
cellar  somewhere.  I'm  afraid  I'm  not  a  good  house 
keeper,  to  speak  truthfully.  There  are  times  when  I 
hate  the  house;  when  it  seems  wholly  ridiculous,  the 
whim  of  an  eccentric  old  man;  and  then  again  I'm  ac 
tually  afraid  that  I  like  its  seclusion." 

"Your  seclusion  is  better  than  mine.  You  know  my 
little  two-room  affair  behind  the  chapel, — only  a  few 
books  and  a  punching  bag.  That  chapel  also  is  one  of 
your  grandfather's  whims.  He  provided  that  all  the 
offices  of  the  church  must  be  said  there  daily  or  the 
endowment  is  stopped.  Mr.  Glenarm  lived  in  the  past, 
or  liked  to  think  he  did.  I  suppose  you  know — or  maybe 
you  don't  know — how  I  came  to  have  this  appointment  ?" 

"Indeed,  I  should  like  to  know." 

We  had  reached  the  soup,  and  Bates  was  changing 
our  plates  with  his  accustomed  light  hand. 

"It  was  my  name  that  did  the  business, — Paul.  A 
bishop  had  recommended  a  man  whose  given  name  was 
Ethelbert, — a  decent  enough  name  and  one  that  you 
might  imagine  would  appeal  to  Mr.  Glenarm;  but  he 


206    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CAXDLES 

rejected  him  because  the  name  might  too  easily  be  cut 
down  to  Ethel,  a  name  which,  he  said,  was  very  distaste 
ful  to  him." 

"That  is  characteristic.  The  dear  old  gentleman!"  I 
exclaimed  with  real  feeling. 

"But  he  reckoned  without  his  host,"  Stoddard  con 
tinued.  "The  young  ladies,  I  have  lately  learned,  call 
me  Pauline,  as  a  mark  of  regard  or  otherwise, — prob 
ably  otherwise.  I  give  two  lectures  a  week  on  church 
history,  and  I  fear  my  course  isn't  popular." 

"But  it  is  something,  on  the  other  hand,  to  be  in  touch 
with  such  an  institution.  They  are  a  very  sightly  com 
pany,  those  girls.  I  enjoy  watching  them  across  the 
garden  wall.  And  I  had  a  closer  view  of  them  at  the 
station  this  morning,  when  you  ran  off  and  deserted 
me." 

He  laughed, — his  big  wholesome  cheering  laugh. 

"I  take  good  care  not  to  see  much  of  them  so 
cially." 

"Afraid  of  the  eternal  feminine  ?" 

"Yes,  I  suppose  I  am.  I'm  preparing  to  go  into  a 
Brotherhood,  as  you  probably  don't  know.  And  girls 
are  distracting." 

I  glanced  at  my  companion  with  a  new  inquiry  and 
interest. 

"I  didn't  know,"  I  said. 


THE    PASSING    OF   OLIVIA  207 

"Yes;  I'm  spending  my  year  in  studies  that  I  may 
never  have  a  chance  for  hereafter.  I'm  going  into  an 
order  whose  members  work  hard." 

He  spoke  as  though  he  were  planning  a  summer  out 
ing.  I  had  not  sat  at  meat  with  a  clergyman  since  the 
death  of  my  parents  broke  up  our  old  home  in  Vermont, 
and  my  attitude  toward  the  cloth  was,  I  fear,  one  of 
antagonism  dating  from  those  days. 

"Well,  I  saw  Pickering  after  all,"  I  remarked. 

"Yes,  I  saw  him,  too.  What  is  it  in  his  case,  genius 
or  good  luck  ?" 

"I'm  not  a  competent  witness,"  I  answered.  "I'll  be 
frank  with  you:  I  don't  like  him;  I  don't  believe  in 
him." 

"Oh !    I  beg  your  pardon.    I  didn't  know,  of  course." 

"The  subject  is  not  painful  to  me,"  I  hastened  to 
add,  "though  he  was  always  rather  thrust  before  me  as 
an  ideal  back  in  my  youth,  and  you  know  how  fatal  that 
is.  And  then  the  gods  of  success  have  opened  all  the 
gates  for  him." 

"Yes,— and  yet—" 

"And  yet — "  I  repeated.  Stoddard  lifted  a  glass  of 
sherry  to  the  light  and  studied  it  for  a  moment.  He  did 
not  drink  wine,  but  was  not,  I  found,  afraid  to  look 
at  it. 

"And  yet,"  he  said,  putting  down  the  glass  and  speak- 


208    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

ing  slowly,  "when  the  gates  of  good  fortune  open  too 
readily  and  smoothly,  they  may  close  sometimes  rather 
too  quickly  and  snap  a  man's  coat-tails.  Please  don't 
think  I'm  going  to  afflict  you  with  shavings  of  wisdom 
from  the  shop-floor,  but  life  wasn't  intended  to  be  too 
easy.  The  spirit  of  man  needs  arresting  and  chasten 
ing.  It  doesn't  flourish  under  too  much  fostering  or 
too  much  of  what  we  call  good  luck.  I'm  disposed  to 
be  afraid  of  good  luck." 

"I've  never  tried  it,"  I  said  laughingly. 

"I  am  not  looking  for  it,"  and  he  spoke  soberly. 

I  could  not  talk  of  Pickering  with  Bates — the  masked 
beggar ! — in  the  room,  so  I  changed  the  subject. 

"I  suppose  you  impose  penances,  prescribe  discipline 
for  the  girls  at  St.  Agatha's, — an  agreeable  exercise  of 
the  priestly  office,  I  should  say !" 

His  laugh  was  pleasant  and  rang  true.  I  was  liking 
him  better  the  more  I  saw  of  him. 

"Bless  you,  no!  I  am  not  venerable  enough.  The 
Sisters  attend  to  all  that, — and  a  fine  company  of 
women  they  are !" 

"But  there  must  be  obstinate  cases.  One  of  the 
young  ladies  confided  to  me — I  tell  you  this  in  cloistral 
confidence — that  she  was  being  deported  for  insubordi 
nation." 

"Ah,  that  must  be  Olivia!    Well,  her  case  is  differ- 


THE   PASSING  OF  OLIVIA' 

eni  She  is  not  one  girl, — she  is  many  kinds  of  a  girl 
in  one.  I  fear  Sister  Theresa  lost  her  patience  and 
hardened  her  heart." 

"I  should  like  to  intercede  for  Miss  Armstrong,"  I 
declared. 

The  surprise  showed  in  his  face,  and  I  added : 

"Pray  don't  misunderstand  me.  We  met  under 
rather  curious  circumstances,  Miss  Armstrong  and  I." 

"She  is  usually  met  under  rather  unconventional  cir 
cumstances,  I  believe,"  he  remarked  dryly.  "My  intro 
duction  to  her  came  through  the  kitten  she  smuggled 
into  the  alms  box  of  the  chapel.  It  took  me  two  days 
to  find  it." 

He  smiled  ruefully  at  the  recollection. 

"She's  a  young  woman  of  spirit,"  I  declared  defen 
sively.  "She  simply  must  find  an  outlet  for  the  joy  of 
youth, — paddling  a  canoe,  chasing  rabbits  through  the 
snow,  placing  kittens  in  durance  vile.  But  she's  de 
mure  enough  when  she  pleases, — and  a  satisfaction  to 
the  eye." 

My  heart  warmed  at  the  memory  of  Olivia.  Verily 
the  chaplain  was  right — she  was  many  girls  in  one ! 

Stoddard  dropped  a  lump  of  sugar  into  his  coffee. 

"Miss  Devereux  begged  hard  for  her,  but  Sister  The 
resa  couldn't  afford  to  keep  her.  Her  influence  on  the 
other  girls  was  bad." 


210     THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"That's  to  Miss  Devereux's  credit,"  I  replied.  "You 
needn't  wait,  Bates." 

"Olivia  was  too  popular.  All  the  other  girls  indulged 
her.  And  I'll  concede  that  she's  pretty.  That  gipsy 
face  of  hers  bodes  ill  to  the  hearts  of  men — if  she  ever 
grows  up." 

"I  shouldn't  exactly  call  it  a  gipsy  face;  and  how 
much  more  should  you  expect  her  to  grow  ?  At  twenty 
a  woman's  grown,  isn't  she  ?" 

He  looked  at  me  quizzically. 

"Fifteen,  you  mean !  Olivia  Armstrong — that  little 
witch — the  kid  that  has  kept  the  school  in  turmoil  all 
the  fall?" 

There  was  decided  emphasis  in  his  interrogations. 

"I'm  glad  your  glasses  are  full,  or  I  should  say — " 

There  was,  I  think,  a  little  heat  for  a  moment  on  both 
sides. 

"The  wires  are  evidently  crossed  somewhere,"  he  said 
calmly.  "My  Olivia  Armstrong  is  a  droll  child  from 
Cincinnati,  whose  escapades  caused  her  to  be  sent  home 
for  discipline  to-day.  She's  a  little  mite  who  just  about 
comes  to  the  lapel  of  your  coat,  her  eyes  are  as  black 
as  midnight — ; 

"Then  she  didn't  talk  to  Pickering  and  his  friends 
at  the  station  this  morning — the  prettiest  girl  in  the 


THE   PASSING  OF   OLIVIA1  211 

world — gray  hat,  gray  coat,  blue  eyes?  You  can  have 
your  Olivia ;  but  who,  will  you  tell  me,  is  mine  ?" 

I  pounded  with  my  clenched  hand  on  the  table  until 
the  candles  rattled  and  sputtered. 

Stoddard  stared  at  me  for  a  moment  as  though  he 
thought  I  had  lost  my  wits.  Then  he  lay  back  in  his 
chair  and  roared.  I  rose,  bending  across  the  table  to 
ward  him  in  my  eagerness.  A  suspicion  had  leaped  into 
my  mind,  and  my  heart  was  pounding  as  it  roused  a 
thousand  questions. 

"The  blue-eyed  young  woman  in  gray?  Bless  your 
heart,  man,  Olivia  is  a  child;  I  talked  to  her  myself  on 
the  platform.  You  were  talking  to  Miss  Devereux. 
She  isn't  Olivia,  she's  Marian !" 

"Then,  who  is  Marian  Devereux — where  does  she 
live — what  is  she  doing  here — ?" 

"Well,"  he  laughed,  "to  answer  your  questions  in  or 
der,  she's  a  young  woman;  her  home  is  New  York; 
she  has  no  near  kinfolk  except  Sister  Theresa,  so  she 
spends  some  of  her  time  here." 

"Teaches — music — " 

"Not  that  I  ever  heard  of !  She  does  a  lot  of  things 
well, — takes  cups  in  golf  tournaments  and  is  the  nim 
blest  hand  at  tennis  you  ever  saw.  Also,  she's  a  fine 
musician  and  plays  the  organ  tremendously." 


212    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"Well,  she  told  me  she  was  Olivia!"  I  said. 

"I  should  think  she  would,  when  you  refused  to  meet 
her;  when  you  had  ignored  her  and  Sister  Theresa, — 
hoth  of  them  among  your  grandfather's  best  friends, 
and  your  nearest  neighbors  here !" 

"My  grandfather  be  hanged!  Of  course  I  couldn't 
know  her!  We  can't  live  on  the  same  earth.  I'm  in 
her  way,  hanging  on  to  this  property  here  just  to  defeat 
her,  when  she's  the  finest  girl  alive !" 

He  nodded  gravely,  his  eyes  bent  upon  me  with  sym 
pathy  and  kindness.  The  past  events  at  Glenarm 
swept  through  my  mind  in  kinetoscopic  flashes,  but  the 
girl  in  gray  talking  to  Arthur  Pickering  and  his 
friends  at  the  Annandale  station,  the  girl  in  gray  who 
had  been  an  eavesdropper  at  the  chapel, — the  girl  in 
gray  with  the  eyes  of  blue !  It  seemed  that  a  year  passed 
before  I  broke  the  silence. 

"Where  has  she  gone  ?"  I  demanded. 

He  smiled,  and  I  was  cheered  by  the  mirth  that 
showed  in  his  face. 

"Why,  she's  gone  to  Cincinnati,  with  Olivia  Gladys 
Armstrong,"  he  said.  "They're  great  chums,  you 
know  I" 


CHAPTER    XVII 

SISTER  THERESA 

There  was  further  information  I  wished  to  obtain, 
and  I  did  not  blush  to  pluck  it  from  Stoddard  before 
I  let  him  go  that  night.  Olivia  Gladys  Armstrong  lived 
in  Cincinnati;  her  father  was  a  wealthy  physician  at 
Walnut  Hills.  Stoddard  knew  the  family,  and  I  asked 
questions  about  them,  their  antecedents  and  place  of 
residence  that  were  not  perhaps  impertinent  in  view  of 
the  fact  that  I  had  never  consciously  set  eyes  on  their 
daughter  in  my  life.  As  I  look  back  upon  it  now  my 
information  secured  at  that  time,  touching  the  history 
and  social  position  of  the  Armstrongs  of  Walnut  Hills, 
Cincinnati,  seems  excessive,  but  the  curiosity  which  the 
Reverend  Paul  Stoddard  satisfied  with  so  little  trouble 
to  himself  was  of  immediate  interest  and  importance. 
As  to  the  girl  in  gray  I  found  him  far  more  difficult. 
She  was  Marian  Devereux;  she  was  a  niece  of  Sister 
Theresa;  her  home  was  in  New  York,  with  another 
aunt,  her  parents  being  dead;  and  she  was  a  frequent 
visitor  at  St.  Agatha's. 

213 


214    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

The  wayward  Olivia  and  she  were  on  excellent  terms, 
and  when  it  seemed  wisest  for  that  vivacious  youngster 
to  retire  from  school  at  the  mid-year  recess  Miss  Dever- 
eux  had  accompanied  her  home,  ostensibly  for  a  visit, 
but  really  to  break  the  force  of  the  blow.  It  was  a  pretty 
story,  and  enhanced  my  already  high  opinion  of  Miss 
Devereux,  while  at  the  same  time  I  admired  the  un 
known  Olivia  Gladys  none  the  less. 

When  Stoddard  left  me  I  dug  out  of  a  drawer  my 
copy  of  John  Marshall  Glenarnr  s  will  and  re-read  it  for 
the  first  time  since  Pickering  gave  it  to  me  in  New 
York.  There  was  one  provision  to  which  I  had  not 
given  a  single  thought,  and  when  I  had  smoothed  the 
thin  type-written  sheets  upon  the  table  in  my  room  I 
read  it  over  and  over  again,  construing  it  in  a  new  light 
with  every  reading. 

Provided,  further,  that  in  the  event  of  the  marriage  of 
said  John  Glenarm  to  the  said  Marian  Devereux,  or  in  the 
event  of  any  promise  or  contract  of  marriage  between  said 
persons  within  five  years  from  the  date  of  said  John  Glen- 
arm's  acceptance  of  the  provisions  of  this  will,  the  whole 
estate  shall  become  the  property  absolutely  of  St.  Agatha's 
School  at  Annandale,  Wabana  County,  Indiana,  a  corpora 
tion  under  the  laws  of  said  state. 

"Bully  for  the  old  boy!"  I  muttered  finally,  folding 
the  copy  with  something  akin  to  reverence  for  my 
grandfather's  shrewdness  in  closing  so  many  doors  up- 


SISTER   THERESA  215 

on  his  heirs.  It  required  no  lawyer  to  interpret  this 
paragraph.  If  I  could  not  secure  his  estate  by  settling 
at  Glenarm  for  a  year  I  was  not  to  gain  it  by  marrying 
the  alternative  heir.  Here,  clearly,  was  not  one  of  those 
situations  so  often  contrived  by  novelists,  in  which  the 
luckless  heir  presumptive,  cut  off  without  a  cent,  weds 
the  pretty  cousin  who  gets  the  fortune  and  they  live 
happily  together  ever  afterward.  John  Marshall  Glen- 
arm  had  explicitly  provided  against  any  such  frustra 
tion  of  his  plans. 

"Bully  for  you,  John  Marshall  Glenarm!"  I  rose 
and  bowed  low  to  his  photograph. 

On  top  of  my  mail  next  morning  lay  a  small  envelope, 
unstamped,  and  addressed  to  me  in  a  free  running  hand. 

"Ferguson  left  it,"  explained  Bates. 

I  opened  and  read : 

If  convenient  will  Mr.  Glenarm  kindly  look  in  at  St. 
Agatha's  some  day  this  week  at  four  o'clock.  Sister  The 
resa  wishes  to  see  him. 

I  whistled  softly.  My  feelings  toward  Sister  Theresa 
had  been  those  of  utter  repugnance  and  antagonism.  I 
had  been  avoiding  her  studiously  and  was  not  a  little 
surprised  that  she  should  seek  an  interview  with  me. 
Quite  possibly  she  wished  to  inquire  how  soon  I  expected 
to  abandon  Glenarm  House;  or  perhaps  she  wished  to 


216  THE  HOUSE  OF  'A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

admonish  me  as  to  the  perils  of  my  soul.  In  any  event 
I  liked  the  quality  of  her  note,  and  I  was  curious  to 
know  why  she  sent  for  me;  moreover,  Marian  Devereux 
was  her  niece  and  that  was  wholly  in  the  Sister's  favor. 

At  four  o'clock  I  passed  into  St.  Agatha  territory 
and  rang  the  bell  at  the  door  of  the  building  where  I 
had  left  Olivia  the  evening  I  found  her  in  the  chapel. 
A  Sister  admitted  me,  led  the  way  to  a  small  reception- 
room  where,  I  imagined,  the  visiting  parent  was  re 
ceived,  and  left  me.  I  felt  a  good  deal  like  a  school 
boy  who  has  been  summoned  before  a  severe  master  for 
discipline.  I  was  idly  beating  my  hat  with  my  gloves 
when  a  quick  step  sounded  in  the  hall  and  instantly  a 
brown-clad  figure  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"Mr.  Glenarm?" 

It  was  a  deep,  rich  voice,  a  voice  of  assurance,  a 
voice,  may  I  say?  of  the  world, — a  voice,  too,  may  I 
add?  of  a  woman  who  is  likely  to  say  what  she  means 
without  ado.  The  white  band  at  her  forehead  brought 
into  relief  two  wonderful  gray  eyes  that  were  alight 
with  kindliness.  She  surveyed  me  a  moment,  then  her 
lips  parted  in  a  smile. 

"This  room  is  rather  forbidding;  if  you  will  come 
with  me — " 

She  turned  with  an  air  of  authority  that  was  a  part 
of  her  undeniable  distinction,  and  I  was  seated  a  mo- 


SISTER   THERESA 

ment  later  in  a  pretty  sitting-room,  whose  windows 
gave  a  view  of  the  dark  wood  and  frozen  lake  beyond. 

"I'm  afraid,  Mr.  Glenarm,  that  you  are  not  disposed 
to  he  neighborly,  and  you  must  pardon  me  if  I  seem  to 
be  pursuing  you." 

Her  smile,  her  voice,  her  manner  were  charming.  I 
had  pictured  her  a  sour  old  woman,  who  had  hidden 
away  from  a  world  that  had  offered  her  no  pleasure. 

"The  apologies  must  all  be  on  my  side,  Sister  The 
resa.  I  have  been  greatly  occupied  since  coming  here, — 
distressed  and  perplexed  even." 

"Our  young  ladies  treasure  the  illusion  that  there 
are  ghosts  at  your  house/'  she  said,  with  a  smile  that 
disposed  of  the  matter. 

She  folded  her  slim  white  hands  on  her  knees  and 
spoke  with  a  simple  directness. 

"Mr.  Glenarm,  there  is  something  I  wish  to  say  to 
you,  but  I  can  say  it  only  if  we  are  to  be  friends.  I 
have  feared  you  might  look  upon  us  here  as  enemies." 

"That  is  a  strong  word,"  I  replied  evasively. 

"Let  me  say  to  you  that  I  hope  very  much  that  noth 
ing  will  prevent  your  inheriting  all  that  Mr.  Glenarm 
wished  you  to  have  from  him." 

"Thank  you;  that  is  both  kind  and  generous,"  I  said 
with  no  little  surprise. 

"Not  in  the  least.    I  should  be  disloyal  to  your  grand- 


218    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

father,  who  was  ray  friend  and  the  friend  of  my  family, 
if  I  did  not  feel  kindly  toward  you  and  wish  you  well. 
And  I  must  say  for  my  niece — " 

"Miss  Devereux."  I  found  a  certain  pleasure  in  pro 
nouncing  her  name. 

"Miss  Devereux  is  very  greatly  disturbed  over  the 
good  intentions  of  your  grandfather  in  placing  her  name 
in  his  will.  You  can  doubtless  understand  how  uncom 
fortable  a  person  of  any  sensibility  would  be  under  the 
circumstances.  I'm  sorry  you  have  never  met  her.  She 
is  a  very  charming  young  woman  whose  happiness  does 
not,  I  may  say,  depend  on  other  people's  money." 

She  had  never  told,  then!  I  smiled  at  the  recollec 
tion  of  our  interviews. 

"I  am  sure  that  is  true.  Sister  Theresa." 

"Now  I  wish  to  speak  to  you  about  a  matter  of  some 
delicacy.  It  is,  I  understand  perfectly,  no  business  of 
mine  how  much  of  a  fortune  Mr.  Glenarm  left.  But 
this  matter  has  been  brought  to  my  attention  in  a  dis 
agreeable  way.  Your  grandfather  established  this 
school;  he  gave  most  of  the  money  for  these  buildings. 
I  had  other  friends  who  offered  to  contribute,  but  he  in 
sisted  on  doing  it  all.  But  now  Mr.  Pickering  insists 
that  the  money — or  part  of  it  at  least — was  only  a  loan." 

"Yes;  I  understand." 

"Mr.  Pickering  tells  me  that  he  has  no  alternative  in 


SISTER   THERESA  219 

the  matter;  that  the  law  requires  him  to  collect  this 
money  as  a  debt  due  the  estate." 

"That  is  undoubtedly  true,  as  a  general  proposition. 
He  told  me  in  New  York  that  he  had  a  claim  against 
you  for  fifty  thousand  dollars." 

"Yes ;  that  is  the  amount.  I  wish  to  say  to  you,  Mr. 
Glenarm,  that  if  it  is  necessary  I  can  pay  that  amount.'* 

"Pray  do  not  trouble  about  it,  Sister  Theresa.  There 
are  a  good  many  things  about  my  grandfather's  affairs 
that  I  don't  understand,  but  I'm  not  going  to  see  an 
old  friend  of  his  swindled.  There's  more  in  all  this 
than  appears.  My  grandfather  seems  to  have  mislaid 
or  lost  most  of  his  assets  before  he  died.  And  yet  he 
had  the  reputation  of  being  a  pretty  cautious  business 
man." 

"The  impression  is  abroad,  as  you  must  know,  that 
your  grandfather  concealed  his  fortune  before  his 
death.  The  people  hereabouts  believe  so ;  and  Mr.  Pick 
ering,  the  executor,  has  been  unable  to  trace  it." 

"Yes,  I  believe  Mr.  Pickering  has  not  been  able  to 
solve  the  problem,"  I  said  and  laughed. 

"But,  of  course,  you  and  he  will  cooperate  in  an  effort 
to  find  the  lost  property." 

She  bent  forward  slightly;  her  eyes,  as  they  met 
mine,  examined  me  with  a  keen  interest. 

"Why  shouldn't  I  be  frank  with  you,  Sister  Theresa  ? 


220    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

I  have  every  reason  for  believing  Arthur  Pickering  a 
scoundrel.  He  does  not  care  to  cooperate  with  me  in 
searching  for  this  money.  The  fact  is  that  he  very 
much  wishes  to  eliminate  me  as  a  factor  in  the  settle 
ment  of  the  estate.  I  speak  carefully;  I  know  exactly 
what  I  am  saying." 

She  bowed  her  head  slightly  and  was  silent  for  a  mo 
ment.  The  silence  was  the  more  marked  from  the  fact 
that  the  hood  of  her  habit  concealed  her  face. 

"What  you  say  is  very  serious." 

"Yes,  and  his  offense  is  equally  serious.  It  may 
seem  odd  for  me  to  be  saying  this  to  you  when  I  am  a 
stranger;  when  you  may  be  pardoned  for  having  no 
very  high  opinion  of  me." 

She  turned  her  face  to  me, — it  was  singularly  gentle 
and  refined, — not  a  face  to  associate  with  an  idea  of 
self-seeking  or  duplicity. 

"I  sent  for  you,  Mr.  Glenarm,  because  I  had  a  very 
good  opinion  of  you;  because,  for  one  reason,  you  are 
the  grandson  of  your  grandfather," — and  the  friendly 
light  in  her  gray  eyes  drove  away  any  lingering  doubt 
I  may  have  had  as  to  her  sincerity.  "I  wished  to  warn 
you  to  have  a  care  for  your  own  safety.  I  don't  warn 
you  against  Arthur  Pickering  alone,  but  against  the 
countryside.  The  idea  of  a  hidden  fortune  is  alluring; 
a  mysterious  house  and  a  lost  treasure  make  a  very  en- 


SISTER   THERESA  221 

ticing  combination.  I  fancy  Mr.  Glenarm  did  not  re 
alize  that  he  was  creating  dangers  for  the  people  he 
wished  to  help." 

She  was  silent  again,  her  eyes  bent  meditatively  upon 
me ;  then  she  spoke  abruptly. 

"Mr.  Pickering  wishes  to  marry  my  niece." 

"Ah !  I  have  been  waiting  to  hear  that.  I  am  ex 
ceedingly  glad  to  know  that  he  has  so  noble  an  ambition. 
But  Miss  Devereux  isn't  encouraging  him,  as  near  as 
I  can  make  out.  She  refused  to  go  to  California  with 
his  party — I  happen  to  know  that." 

"That  whole  California  episode  would  have  been 
amusing  if  it  had  not  been  ridiculous.  Marian  never 
had  the  slightest  idea  of  going  with  him;  but  she  is 
sometimes  a  little — shall  I  say  perverse? — " 

"Please  do !    I  like  the  word — and  the  quality !" 

" — and  Mr.  Pickering's  rather  elaborate  methods  of 
wooing — " 

"He's  as  heavy  as  lead !"  I  declared. 

" — amuse  Marian  up  to  a  certain  point ;  then  they  an 
noy  her.  He  has  implied  pretty  strongly  that  the  claim 
against  me  could  be  easily  adjusted  if  Marian  marries 
him.  But  she  will  never  marry  him,  whether  she  bene 
fits  by  your  grandfather's  will  or  however  that  may  be !" 

"I  should  say  not,"  I  declared  with  a  warmth  that 
caused  Sister  Theresa  to  sweep  me  warily  with  those 


222    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

wonderful  gray  eyes.  "But  first  he  expects  to  find  this 
fortune  and  endow  Miss  Devereux  with  it.  That  is  a 
part  of  the  scheme.  And  my  own  interest  in  the  estate 
must  be  eliminated  before  he  can  bring  that  condition 
about.  But,  Sister  Theresa,  I  am  not  so  easily  got  rid 
of  as  Arthur  Pickering  imagines.  My  staying  qualities, 
which  were  always  weak  in  the  eyes  of  my  family,  have 
been  braced  up  a  trifle." 

"Yes."  I  thought  pleasure  and  hope  were  expressed 
in  the  monosyllable,  and  my  heart  warmed  to  her. 

"Sister  Theresa,  you  and  I  are  understanding  each 
other  much  better  than  I  imagined  we  should," — and 
we  both  laughed,  feeling  a  real  sympathy  growing  be 
tween  us. 

"Yes;  I  believe  we  are," — and  the  smile  lighted  her 
face  again. 

"So  I  can  tell  you  two  things.  The  first  is  that  Ar 
thur  Pickering  will  never  find  my  grandfather's  lost 
fortune,  assuming  that  any  exists.  The  second  is  that 
in  no  event  will  he  marry  your  niece." 

"You  speak  with  a  good  deal  of  confidence,"  she  said, 
and  laughed  a  low  murmuring  laugh.  I  thought  there 
was  relief  in  it.  "But  I  didn't  suppose  Marian's  af 
fairs  interested  you." 

"They  don't,  Sister  Theresa.  Her  affairs  are  not  of 
the  slightest  importance, — but  she  is !" 


SISTER  THERESA1  223 

There  was  frank  inquiry  in  her  eyes  now. 

"But  you  don't  know  her, — you  have  missed  your 
opportunity." 

"To  be  sure,  I  don't  know  her;  hut  I  know  Olivia 
Gladys  Armstrong.  She's  a  particular  friend  of  mine, 
— we  have  chased  rabbits  together,  and  she  told  me  a 
great  deal.  I  have  formed  a  very  good  opinion  of  Miss 
Devereux  in  that  way.  Oh,  that  note  you  wrote  about 
Olivia's  intrusions  beyond  the  wall!  I  should  thank 
you  for  it, — but  I  really  didn't  mind." 

"A  note  ?    I  never  wrote  you  a  note  until  to-day !" 

"Well,  some  one  did !"  I  said ;  then  she  smiled. 

"Oh,  that  must  have  been  Marian.  She  was  always 
Olivia's  loyal  friend !" 

"I  should  say  so !" 

Sister  Theresa  laughed  merrily. 

"But  you  shouldn't  have  known  Olivia, — it  is  unpar 
donable  !  If  she  played  tricks  upon  you,  you  should  not 
have  taken  advantage  of  them  to  make  her  acquaintance. 
That  wasn't  fair  to  me !" 

"I  suppose  not !  But  I  protest  against  this  deporta 
tion.  The  landscape  hereabouts  is  only  so  much  sky, 
snow  and  lumber  without  her." 

"We  miss  her,  too,"  replied  Sister  Theresa.  "We  have 
less  to  do !" 

"And  still  I  protest!"  I  declared,  rising.     "Sister 


224:  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

Theresa,  I  thank  you  with  all  my  heart  for  what  you 
have  said  to  me, — for  the  disposition  to  say  it!  And 
this  debt  to  the  estate  is  something,  I  promise  you,  that 
shall  not  trouble  you." 

"Then  there's  a  truce  between  us!    We  are  not  ene 
mies  at  all  now,  are  we  ?" 

"No;  for  Olivia's  sake,  at  least,  we  shall  be  friends." 
I  went  home  and  studied  the  time-table. 


CHAPTEK   XVIII 

GOLDEN  BUTTERFLIES 

If  you  are  one  of  those  captious  people  who  must 
verify  by  the  calendar  every  new  moon  you  read  of  in 
a  book,  and  if  you  are  pained  to  discover  the  historian 
lifting  anchor  and  spreading  sail  contrary  to  the  reck 
onings  of  the  nautical  almanac,  I  beg  to  call  your  at 
tention  to  these  items  from  the  time-table  of  the  Mid- 
Western  and  Southern  Eailway  for  December,  1901. 

The  south-bound  express  passed  Annandale  at  exactly 
fifty-three  minutes  after  four  p.  M.  It  was  scheduled 
to  reach  Cincinnati  at  eleven  o'clock  sharp.  These 
items  are,  I  trust,  sufficiently  explicit. 

To  the  student  of  morals  and  motives  I  will  say  a 
further  word.  I  had  resolved  to  practise  deception  in 
running  away  from  Glenarm  House  to  keep  my  prom 
ise  to  Marian  Devereux.  By  leaving  I  should  forfeit 
my  right  to  any  part  of  my  grandfather's  estate;  I 
knew  that  and  accepted  the  issue  without  regret;  but  I 
had  no  intention  of  surrendering  Glenarm  House  to 
Arthur  Pickering,  particularly  now  that  I  realized  how 

225 


226     THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

completely  I  had  placed  myself  in  his  trap.  I  felt, 
moreover,  a  duty  to  my  dead  grandfather;  and — not 
least — the  attacks  of  Morgan  and  the  strange  ways  of 
Bates  had  stirred  whatever  fighting  hlood  there  was  in 
me.  Pickering  and  I  were  engaged  in  a  sharp  contest, 
and  I  was  beginning  to  enjoy  it  to  the  full,  but  I  did  not 
falter  in  my  determination  to  visit  Cincinnati,  hoping 
to  return  without  my  absence  being  discovered;  so  the 
next  afternoon  I  began  preparing  for  my  journey. 

"Bates,  I  fear  that  I'm  taking  a  severe  cold  and  I'm 
going  to  dose  myself  with  whisky  and  quinine  and  go 
to  bed.  I  shan't  want  any  dinner, — nothing  until  you 
see  me  again." 

I  yawned  and  stretched  myself  with  a  groan. 

"I'm  very  sorry,  sir.    Shan't  I  call  a  doctor?" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  I'll  sleep  it  off  and  be  as  lively  as 
a  cricket  in  the  morning." 

At  four  o'clock  I  told  him  to  carry  some  hot  water 
and  lemons  to  my  room;  bade  him  an  emphatic  good 
night  and  locked  the  door  as  he  left.  Then  I  packed 
my  evening  clothes  in  a  suit-case.  I  threw  the  bag  and 
a  heavy  ulster  from  a  window,  swung  myself  out  upon 
the  limb  of  a  big  maple  and  let  it  bend  under  me  to  its 
sharpest  curve  and  then  dropped  lightly  to  the  ground. 

I  passed  the  gate  and  struck  off  toward  the  village 
with  a  joyful  sense  of  freedom.  When  I  reached  the 


GOLDEN   BUTTEKFLIES  227 

station  I  sought  at  once  the  south-bound  platform,  not 
wishing  to  be  seen  buying  a  ticket.  'A  few  other  pas 
sengers  were  assembling,  but  I  saw  no  one  I  recognized. 
Number  six,  I  heard  the  agent  say,  was  on  time;  and 
in  a  few  minutes  it  came  roaring  up.  I  bought  a  seat 
in  the  Washington  sleeper  and  went  into  the  dining-car 
for  supper.  The  train  was  full  of  people  hurrying  to 
various  ports  for  the  holidays,  but  they  had,  I  reflected, 
no  advantage  over  me.  I2  too,  was  bound  on  a  definite 
errand,  though  my  journey  was,  I  imagined,  less  com 
monplace  in  its  character  than  the  homing  flight  of 
most  of  my  fellow  travelers. 

I  made  myself  comfortable  and  dozed  and  dreamed  as 
the  train  plunged  through  the  dark.  There  was  a  wait, 
with  much  shifting  of  cars,  where  we  crossed  the  Wa- 
bash,  then  we  sped  on.  It  grew  warmer  as  we  drew 
southward,  and  the  conductor  was  confident  we  should 
reach  Cincinnati  on  time.  The  through  passengers  about 
me  went  to  bed,  and  I  was  left  sprawled  out  in  my  open 
section,  lurking  on  the  shadowy  frontier  between  the 
known  world  and  dreamland. 

"We're  running  into  Cincinnati — ten  minutes  late," 
said  the  porter's  voice;  and  in  a  moment  I  was  in  the 
vestibule  and  out,  hurrying  to  a  hotel.  rAt  the  St. 
Botolph  I  ordered  a  carriage  and  broke  all  records 
changing  my  clothes.  The  time-table  informed  me  that 


228  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

the  Northern  express  left  at  half-past  one.  There  -was 
no  reason  why  I  should  not  be  safe  at  Glenarm  House 
by  my  usual  breakfast  hour  if  all  went  well.  To  avoid 
loss  of  time  in  returning  to  the  station  I  paid  the  hotel 
charge  and  carried  my  bag  away  with  me. 

"Doctor  Armstrong's  residence?  Yes,  sir;  Fve  al 
ready  taken  one  load  there." 

The  carriage  was  soon  climbing  what  seemed  to  be  a 
mountain  to  the  heights  above  Cincinnati.  To  this  day 
I  associate  Ohio's  most  interesting  city  with  a  lonely 
carriage  ride  that  seemed  to  be  chiefly  uphill,  through 
a  region  that  was  as  strange  to  me  as  a  trackless  jungle 
in  the  wilds  of  Africa.  And  my  heart  began  to  perform 
strange  tattoos  on  my  ribs.  I  was  going  to  the  house 
of  a  gentleman  who  did  not  know  of  my  existence,  to 
see  a  girl  who  was  his  guest,  to  whom  I  had  never,  as 
the  conventions  go,  been  presented.  It  did  not  seem 
half  so  easy,  now  that  I  was  well  launched  upon  the  ad 
venture. 

I  stopped  the  cabman  just  as  he  was  about  to  enter 
an  iron  gateway  whose  posts  bore  two  great  lamps. 
"That  is  all  right,  sir.    I  can  drive  right  in." 
"But  you  needn't,"  I  said,  jumping  out.  "Wait  here." 
Doctor  Armstrong's  residence  was  brilliantly  lighted, 
and  the  strains  of  a  waltz  stole  across  the  lawn  cheerily. 
Several  carriages  swept  past  me  as  I  followed  the  walk. 


GOLDEN    BUTTEKFLIES'  229 

I  was  arriving  at  a  fashionable  hour — it  was  nearly 
twelve — and  just  how  to  effect  an  entrance  without  be 
ing  thrown  out  as  an  interloper  was  a  formidable  prob 
lem,  now  that  I  had  reached  the  house.  I  must  catch 
my  train  home,  and  this  left  no  margin  for  explanation 
to  an  outraged  host  whose  first  impulse  would  very 
likely  be  to  turn  me  over  to  the  police. 

I  made  a  detour  and  studied  the  house,  seeking  a 
door  by  which  I  could  enter  without  passing  the  un 
friendly  Gibraltar  of  a  host  and  hostess  on  guard  to 
welcome  belated  guests. 

A  long  conservatory  filled  with  tropical  plants  gave 
me  my  opportunity.  Promenaders  went  idly  through 
and  out  into  another  part  of  the  house  by  an  exit  I 
could  not  see.  A  handsome,  spectacled  gentleman 
opened  a  glass  door  within  a  yard  of  where  I  stood, 
sniffed  the  air,  and  said  to  his  companion,  as  he  turned 
back  with  a  shrug  into  the  conservatory : 

"There's  no  sign  of  snow.  It  isn't  Christmas  weather 
at  all." 

He  strolled  away  through  the  palms,  and  I  instantly 
threw  off  my  ulster  and  hat,  cast  them  behind  some 
bushes,  and  boldly  opened  the  door  and  entered. 

The  ball-room  was  on  the  third  floor,  but  the  guests 
were  straggling  down  to  supper,  and  I  took  my  stand 
at  the  foot  of  the  broad  stairway  and  glanced  up  care- 


230  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

lessly,  as  though  waiting  for  some  one.  It  was  a  large 
and  brilliant  company  and  many  a  lovely  face  passed 
me  as  I  stood  waiting.  The  very  size  of  the  gathering 
gave  me  security,  and  I  smoothed  my  gloves  com 
placently. 

The  spectacled  gentleman  whose  breath  of  night  air 
had  given  me  a  valued  hint  of  the  open  conservatory 
door  came  now  and  stood  beside  me.  He  even  put  his 
hand  on  my  arm  with  intimate  friendliness. 

There  was  a  sound  of  mirth  and  scampering  feet  in 
the  hall  above  and  then  down  the  steps,  between  the 
lines  of  guests  arrested  in  their  descent,  came  a  dark 
laughing  girl  in  the  garb  of  Little  Eed  Riding  Hood, 
amid  general  applause  and  laughter. 

"It's  Olivia!  She's  won  the  wager!"  exclaimed  the 
spectacled  gentleman,  and  the  girl,  whose  dark  curls 
were  shaken  about  her  face,  ran  up  to  us  and  threw 
her  arms  about  him  and  kissed  him.  It  was  a  charming 
picture, — the  figures  on  the  stairway,  the  pretty  grace 
ful  child,  the  eager,  happy  faces  all  about.  I  was  too 
much  interested  by  this  scene  of  the  comedy  to  be  un 
comfortable. 

Then,  at  the  top  of  the  stair,  her  height  accented  by 
her  gown  of  white,  stood  Marian  Devereux,  hesitating 
an  instant,  as  a  bird  pauses  before  taking  wing,  and  then 
laughingly  running  between  the  lines  to  where  Olivia 


At  the  top  of  the  stair,  her  height  accented  by  her  gown  of  white, 
stood   Marian  Devereux.  Page  2 JO 


GOLDEN   BUTTEEFLIES  231 

faced  her  in  mock  abjection.  To  the  charm  of  the  girl 
in  the  woodland  was  added  now  the  dignity  of  beauti 
ful  womanhood,  and  my  heart  leaped  at  the  thought 
that  I  had  ever  spoken  to  her,  that  I  was  there  because 
she  had  taunted  me  with  the  risk  of  coming. 

Above,  on  the  stair  landing,  a  deep-toned  clock  began 
to  strike  midnight  and  every  one  cried  "Merry  Christ 
mas!"  and  "Olivia's  won!"  and  there  was  more  hand- 
clapping,  in  which  I  joined  with  good  will. 

Some  one  behind  me  was  explaining  what  had  just 
occurred.  Olivia,  the  youngest  daughter  of  the  house, 
had  been  denied  a  glimpse  of  the  ball;  Miss  Devereux 
had  made  a  wager  with  her  host  that  Olivia  would  ap 
pear  before  midnight ;  and  Olivia  had  defeated  the  plot 
against  her,  and  gained  the  main  hall  at  the  stroke  of 
Christmas. 

"Good  night!  Good  night!"  called  Olivia — the  real 
Olivia — in  derision  to  the  company,  and  turned  and  ran 
back  through  the  applauding,  laughing  throng. 

The  spectacled  gentleman  was  Olivia's  father,  and  he 
mockingly  rebuked  Marian  Devereux  for  having  en 
couraged  an  infraction  of  parental  discipline,  while  she 
was  twitting  him  upon  the  loss  of  his  wager.  Then  her 
eyes  rested  upon  me  for  the  first  time.  She  smiled 
slightly,  but  continued  talking  placidly  to  her  host. 
The  situation  did  not  please  me;  I  had  not  traveled  so 


232    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

far  and  burglariously  entered  Doctor  Armstrong's  house 
in  quest  of  a  girl  with  blue  eyes  merely  to  stand  by  while 
she  talked  to  another  man. 

I  drew  nearer,  impatiently;  and  was  conscious  that 
four  other  young  men  in  white  waistcoats  and  gloves 
quite  as  irreproachable  as  my  own  stood  ready  to  claim 
her  the  instant  she  was  free.  I  did  not  propose  to  be 
thwarted  by  the  beaux  of  Cincinnati,  so  I  stepped  to 
ward  Doctor  Armstrong. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Doctor — ,"  I  said  with  an  as 
surance  for  which  I  blush  to  this  hour. 

"All  right,  my  boy ;  I,  too,  have  been  in  Arcady !"  he 
exclaimed  in  cheerful  apology,  and  she  put  her  hand 
on  my  arm  and  I  led  her  away. 

"He  called  me  'my  boy/  so  I  must  be  passing  muster," 
I  remarked,  not  daring  to  look  at  her. 

"He's  afraid  not  to  recognize  you.  His  inability  to 
remember  faces  is  a  town  joke." 

We  reached  a  quiet  corner  of  the  great  hall  and  I 
found  a  seat  for  her. 

"You  don't  seem  surprised  to  see  me, — you  knew  I 
would  come.  I  should  have  come  across  the  world  for 
this, — for  just  this." 

Her  eyes  were  grave  at  once. 

"TVhy  did  you  come?    I  did  not  think  yon  were  so 


GOLDEN"   BUTTERFLIES'  233 

foolish.  This  is  all — so  wretched, — so  unfortunate.  You 
didn't  know  that  Mr.  Pickering — Mr.  Pickering — " 

She  was  greatly  distressed  and  this  name  came  from 
her  chokingly. 

"Yes ;  what  of  him  ?"  I  laughed.  "He  is  well  on  his 
way  to  California, — and  without  you !" 

She  spoke  hurriedly,  eagerly,  bending  toward  me. 

"No — you  don't  know — you  don't  understand — he's 
here;  he  abandoned  his  California  trip  at  Chicago;  he 
telegraphed  me  to  expect  him — here — to-night!  You 
must  go  at  once, — at  once !" 

"Ah,  but  you  can't  frighten  me,"  I  said,  trying  to 
realize  just  what  a  meeting  with  Pickering  in  that  house 
might  mean. 

"No," — she  looked  anxiously  about, — "they  were  to 
arrive  late,  he  and  the  Taylors;  they  know  the  Arm 
strongs  quite  well.  They  may  come  at  any  moment 
now.  Please  go !" 

"But  I  have  only  a  few  minutes  myself, — you 
wouldn't  have  me  sit  them  out  in  the  station  down 
town?  There  are  some  things  I  have  come  to  say,  and 
Arthur  Pickering  and  I  are  not  afraid  of  each  other  I" 

"But  you  must  not  meet  him  here !  Think  what  that 
\7ould  mean  to  me !  You  are  very  foolhardy,  Mr.  Glen- 
arm.  I  had  no  idea  you  would  come — " 


"But  you  wished  to  try  me, — you  challenged  me." 

"That  wasn't  me, — it  was  Olivia,"  she  laughed,  more 
at  ease,  "I  thought — " 

"Yes,  what  did  you  think?"  I  asked.  "That  I  was 
tied  hand  and  foot  by  a  dead  man's  money  ?" 

"No,  it  wasn't  that  wretched  fortune;  but  I  enjoyed 
playing  the  child  before  you — I  really  love  Olivia — and 
it  seemed  that  the  fairies  were  protecting  me  and  that 
I  could  play  being  a  child  to  the  very  end  of  the  chap 
ter  without  any  real  mischief  coming  of  it.  I  wish 
I  were  Olivia !"  she  declared,  her  eyes  away  from  me. 

"That's  rather  idle.  I'm  not  really  sure  yet  what 
your  name  is,  and  I  don't  care.  Let's  imagine  that  we 
haven't  any  names, — I'm  sure  my  name  isn't  of  any 
use,  and  I'll  be  glad  to  go  nameless  all  my  days  if 
only-" 

"If  only — "  she  repeated  idly,  opening  and  closing 
her  fan.  It  was  a  frail  blue  trifle,  painted  in  golden 
butterflies. 

"There  are  so  many  'if  onlies'  that  I  hesitate  to 
choose;  but  I  will  venture  one.  If  only  you  will  come 
back  to  St.  Agatha's !  Not  to-morrow,  or  the  next  day, 
but,  say,  with  the  first  bluebirds.  I  believe  they  are 
the  harbingers  up  there." 

Her  very  ease  was  a  balm  to  my  spirit;  she  was  now 


GOLDEN   BUTTERFLIES  235 

a  veritable  daughter  of  repose.  One  arm  in  its  long 
white  sheath  lay  quiet  in  her  lap;  her  right  hand  held 
the  golden  butterflies  against  the  soft  curve  of  her  cheek. 
A  collar  of  pearls  clasped  her  throat  and  accented  the 
clear  girlish  lines  of  her  profile.  I  felt  the  appeal  of 
her  youth  and  purity.  It  was  like  a  cry  in  my  heart, 
and  I  forgot  the  dreary  house  by  the  lake,  and  Picker 
ing  and  the  weeks  within  the  stone  walls  of  my  prison. 

'The  friends  who  know  me  best  never  expect  me  to 
promise  to  be  anywhere  at  a  given  time.  I  can't  tell; 
perhaps  I  shall  follow  the  bluebirds  to  Indiana;  but 
why  should  I,  when  I  can't  play  being  Olivia  any 
more?" 

"No!  I  am  very  dull.  That  note  of  apology  you 
wrote  from  the  school  really  fooled  me.  But  I  have 
seen  the  real  Olivia  now.  I  don't  want  you  to  go  too 
far — not  where  I  can't  follow — this  flight  I  shall  hardly 
dare  repeat." 

Her  lips  closed — like  a  rose  that  had  gone  back  to  be 
a  bud  again — and  she  pondered  a  moment,  slowly  free 
ing  and  imprisoning  the  golden  butterflies. 

"Yon  have  risked  a  fortune,  Mr.  Glenarm,  very,  very 
foolishly, — and  more — if  you  are  found  here.  Why, 
Olivia  must  have  recognized  you !  She  must  have  seen 
you  often  across  the  wall." 


236    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"But  I  don't  care — I'm  not  staying  at  that  ruin  up 
there  for  money.  My  grandfather  meant  more  to  me 
than  that—" 

"Yes ;  I  believe  that  is  so.  He  was  a  dear  old  gentle 
man  ;  and  he  liked  me  because  I  thought  his  jokes  ador 
able.  My  father  and  he  had  known  each  other.  But 
there  was — no  expectation — no  wish  to  profit  by  his 
friendship.  My  name  in  his  will  is  a  great  embarrass 
ment,  a  source  of  real  annoyance.  The  newspapers 
have  printed  dreadful  pictures  of  me.  That  is  why  I 
say  to  you,  quite  frankly,  that  I  wouldn't  accept  a  cent 
of  Mr.  Glenarm's  money  if  it  were  offered  me;  and 
that  is  why," — and  her  smile  was  a  flash  of  spring, — "I 
want  you  to  obey  the  terms  of  the  will  and  earn  your 
fortune." 

She  closed  the  fan  sharply  and  lifted  her  eyes  to  mine. 

"But  there  isn't  any  fortune !  It's  all  a  myth,,  a  joke," 
I  declared. 

"Mr.  Pickering  doesn't  seem  to  think  so.  He  had 
every  reason  for  believing  that  Mr.  Glenarm  was  a  very 
rich  man.  The  property  can't  be  found  in  the  usual 
places, — banks,  safety  vaults,  and  the  like.  Then  where 
do  you  think  it  is, — or  better,  where  do  you  think 
Mr.  Pickering  thinks  it  is  ?" 

"But  assuming  that  it's  buried  up  there  by  the  lake 
like  a  pirate's  treasure,  it  isn't  Pickering's  if  he  finds 


GOLDEN   BUTTERFLIES'  237 

it.  There  are  laws  to  protect  even  the  dead  from  rob 
bery  I"  I  concluded  hotly. 

"How  difficult  you  are!  Suppose  you  should  fall 
from  a  boat,  or  be  shot — accidentally — then  I  might 
have  to  take  the  fortune  after  all;  and  Mr.  Pickering 
might  think  of  an  easier  way  of  getting  it  than  by — " 

"Stealing  it !    Yes,  but  you  wouldn't— !" 

Half -past  twelve  struck  on  the  stairway  and  I  started 
to  my  feet. 

"You  wouldn't — "  I  repeated. 

"I  might,  you  know !" 

"I  -must  go, — but  not  with  that,  not  with  any  hint  of 
that, — please  I" 

"If  you  let  him  defeat  you,  if  you  fail  to  spend  your 
year  there, — we'll  overlook  this  one  lapse/' — she  looked 
me  steadily  in  the  eyes,  wholly  guiltless  of  coquetry  but 
infinitely  kind, — "then, — " 

She  paused,  opened  the  fan,  held  it  up  to  the  light 
and  studied  the  golden  butterflies. 

"Yes— " 

"Then — let  me  see — oh,  I  shall  never  chase  another 
rabbit  as  long  as  I  live !  Now  go — quickly — quickly !'' 

"But  you  haven't  told  me  when  and  where  it  vrcis  wo 
met  the  first  time.  Please  I" 

She  laughed,  but  urged  me  away  with  her  eyes. 

"I  shan't  do  it  I    It  isn't  proper  for  me  to  remember, 


if  your  memory  Is  so  poor.  I  wonder  how  it  would  seem 
for  us  to  meet  just  once — and  be  introduced!  Good 
night !  You  really  came.  You  are  a  gentleman  of  your 
word,  Squire  Glenarm !" 

She  gave  me  the  tips  of  her  fingers  without  looking 
at  me. 

A  servant  came  in  hurriedly. 

"Miss  Devereux,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Taylor  and  Mr.  Pick 
ering  are  in  the  drawing-room." 

"Yes ;  very  well ;  I  will  come  at  once." 

Then  to  me : 

"They  must  not  see  you — there,  that  way!"  and  she 
stood  in  the  door,  facing  me,  her  hands  lightly  touch 
ing  the  frame  as  though  to  secure  my  way. 

I  turned  for  a  last  look  and  saw  her  waiting — her 
eyes  bent  gravely  upon  me,  her  arms  still  half-raised, 
barring  the  door ;  then  she  turned  swiftly  away  into  the 
hall. 

Outside  I  found  my  hat  and  coat,  and  wakened  my 
sleeping  driver.  He  drove  like  mad  into  the  city,  and 
I  swung  upon  the  north-bound  sleeper  just  as  it  was 
drawing  out  of  the  station. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

I  MEET  AN  OLD  FRIEND 

When  I  reached  the  house  I  found,  to  my  astonish 
ment,  that  the  window  I  had  left  open  as  I  scrambled 
out  the  night  before  was  closed.  I  dropped  my  bag  and 
crept  to  the  front  door,  thinking  that  if  Bates  had  dis 
covered  my  absence  it  was  useless  to  attempt  any  fur 
ther  deception.  I  was  amazed  to  find  the  great  doors 
of  the  main  entrance  flung  wide,  and  in  real  alarm  I 
ran  through  the  hall  and  back  to  the  library. 

The  nearest  door  stood  open,  and,  as  I  peered  in,  a 
curious  scene  disclosed  itself.  A  few  of  the  large  ca 
thedral  candles  still  burned  brightly  in  several  places, 
their  flame  rising  strangely  in  the  gray  morning  light. 
Books  had  been  taken  from  the  shelves  and  scattered 
everywhere,  and  sharp  implements  had  cut  ugly  gashes 
in  the  shelving.  The  drawers  containing  sketches  and 
photographs  had  been  pulled  out  and  their  contents 
thrown  about  and  trampled  under  foot. 

The  house  was  as  silent  as  a  tomb,  but  as  I  stood  on 
the  threshold  trying  to  realize  what  had  happened,  some 
thing  stirred  by  the  fireplace  and  I  crept  forward,  lis 
tening,  until  I  stood  by  the  long  table  beneath  the  great 

239 


240  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

chandelier.  Again  I  heard  a  sound  as  of  some  animal 
waking  and  stretching,  followed  by  a  moan  that  was 
undoubtedly  human.  Then  the  hands  of  a  man  clutched 
the  farther  edge  of  the  table,  and  slowly  and  evidently 
with  infinite  difficulty  a  figure  rose  and  the  dark  face 
of  Bates,  with  eyes  blurred  and  staring  strangely,  con 
fronted  me. 

He  drew  his  body  to  its  height,  and  leaned  heavily 
upon  the  table.  I  snatched  a  candle  and  bent  toward 
him  to  make  sure  my  eyes  were  not  tricking  me. 

"Mr.  Glenarm!  Mr.  Glenarm!"  he  exclaimed  in 
broken  whispers.  "It  is  Bates,  sir." 

"What  have  you  done;  what  has  happened?"  I  de 
manded. 

He  put  his  hand  to  his  head  uncertainly  and  gaped 
as  though  trying  to  gather  his  wits. 

He  was  evidently  dazed  by  whatever  had  occurred, 
and  I  sprang  around  and  helped  him  to  a  couch.  He 
would  not  lie  down  but  sat  up,  staring  and  passing  his 
hand  over  his  head.  It  was  rapidly  growing  lighter, 
and  I  saw  a  purple  and  black  streak  across  his  temple 
where  a  bludgeon  of  some  sort  had  struck  him. 

"What  does  this  mean,  Bates?  Who  has  been  in  the 
house?" 

"I  can't  tell  you,  Mr.  Glenarm." 

"Can't  tell  me!     You  will  tell  me  or  go  to  jail! 


I   MEET   AN   OLD   FRIEND  241 

There's  been  mischief  done  here  and  I  don't  intend  to 
have  any  nonsense  about  it  from  you.  Well —  ?" 

He  was  clearly  suffering,  but  in  my  anger  at  tb<3  sight 
of  the  wreck  of  the  room  I  grasped  his  shoulder  and 
shook  him  roughly. 

"It  was  early  this  morning,"  he  faltered,  "about  two 
o'clock,  I  heard  noises  in  the  lower  part  of  the  house. 
I  came  down  thinking  likely  it  was  you,  and  remember 
ing  that  you  had  been  sick  yesterday — " 

"Yes,  go  on." 

The  thought  of  my  truancy  was  no  balm  to  my  con 
science  just  then. 

"As  I  came  into  the  hall,  I  saw  lights  in  the  library. 
As  you  weren't  down  last  night  the  room  hadn't  been 
lighted  at  all.  I  heard  steps,  and  some  one  tapping  with 
a  hammer — " 

"Yes ;  a  hammer.    Go  on !" 

It  was,  then,  the  same  old  story !  The  war  had  been 
carried  openly  into  the  house,  but  Bates, — just  why 
should  any  one  connected  with  the  conspiracy  injure 
Bates,  who  stood  so  near  to  Pickering,  its  leader  ?  The 
fellow  was  undoubtedly  hurt, — there  was  no  mistaking 
the  lump  on  his  head.  He  spoke  with  a  painful  diffi 
culty  that  was  not  assumed,  I  felt  increasingly  sure,  as 
he  went  on. 

"I  saw  a  man  pulling  out  the  books  and  tapping  the 


212  m  THE  HOUSE  OF  'A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

inside  of  the  shelves.  He  was  working  very  fast.  And 
the  next  thing  I  knew  he  let  in  another  man  through 
one  of  the  terrace  doors, — the  one  there  that  still  stands 
a  little  open." 

He  flinched  as  he  turned  slightly  to  indicate  it,  and 
his  face  twitched  with  pain. 

"Never  mind  that ;  tell  the  rest  of  your  story." 

"Then  I  ran  in,  grabbed  one  of  the  big  candelabra 
from  the  table,  and  went  for  the  nearest  man.  They 
were  about  to  begin  on  the  chimney-breast  there, — it 
was  Mr.  Glenarm's  pride  in  all  the  house, — and  that 
accounts  for  my  being  there  in  front  of  the  fireplace. 
They  rather  got  the  best  of  me,  sir." 

"Clearly;  I  see  they  did.  You  had  a  hand-to-hand 
fight  with  them,  and  being  two  to  one — " 

"No;  there  were  two  of  us, — don't  you  understand, 
two  of  us !  There  was  another  man  who  came  running 
in  from  somewhere,  and  he  took  sides  with  me.  I 
thought  at  first  it  was  you.  The  robbers  thought  so, 
too,  for  one  of  them  yelled,  'Great  God ;  it's  Glenarm !' 
just  like  that.  But  it  wasn't  you,  but  quite  another  per 
son." 

"That's  a  good  story  so  far;  and  then  what  hap 
pened?" 

"I  don't  remember  much  more,  except  that  some  one 
soused  me  with  water  that  helped  my  head  considerably, 


243 

and  the  next  thing  I  knew  I  was  staring  across  the  table 
there  at  you." 

"Who  were  these  men,  Bates  ?    Speak  up  quickly !" 

My  tone  was  peremptory.  Here  was,  I  felt,  a  crucial 
moment  in  our  relations. 

"Well,"  he  began  deliberately,  "I  dislike  to  make 
charges  against  a  fellow  man,  but  I  strongly  suspect  one 
of  the  men  of  being — " 

"Yes!  Tell  the  whole  truth  or  it  will  be  the  worse 
for  you." 

"I  very  much  fear  one  of  them  was  Ferguson,  the 
gardener  over  the  way.  I'm  disappointed  in  him, 
sir." 

"Very  good ;  and  now  for  the  other  one." 

"I  didn't  get  my  eyes  on  him.  I  had  closed  with 
Ferguson  and  we  were  having  quite  a  lively  time  of  it 
when  the  other  one  came  in ;  then  the  man  who  came  to 
my  help  mixed  us  all  up, — he  was  a  very  lively  person, — 
and  what  became  of  Ferguson  and  the  rest  of  it  I  don't 
know." 

There  was  food  for  thought  in  what  he  said.  He  had 
taken  punishment  in  defense  of  my  property — the  crack 
on  his  head  was  undeniable — and  I  could  not  abuse 
him  or  question  his  veracity  with  any  grace;  not,  at 
least,  without  time  for  investigation  and  study.  How 
ever,  I  ventured  to  ask  him  one  question. 


244  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"If  you  were  guessing,  shouldn't  you  think  it  quite 
likely  that  Morgan  was  the  other  man?" 

He  met  my  gaze  squarely. 

"I  think  it  wholly  possible,  Mr.  Glenarm." 

"And  the  man  who  helped  you — who  in  the  devil  was 
he?" 

"Bless  me,  I  don't  know.  He  disappeared.  I'd  like 
mightily  to  see  him  again." 

"Humph!  Now  you'd  better  do  something  for  your 
head.  I'll  summon  the  village  doctor  if  you  say  so." 

"No ;  thank  you,  sir.    I'll  take  care  of  it  myself." 

"And  now  we'll  keep  quiet  about  this.  Don't  men 
tion  it  or  discuss  it  with  any  one." 

"Certainly  not,  sir." 

He  rose,  and  staggered  a  little,  but  crossed  to  the 
broad  mantel-shelf  in  the  great  chimney-breast,  rested 
his  arm  upon  it  for  a  moment,  passed  his  hand  over  the 
dark  wood  with  a  sort  of  caress,  then  bent  his  eyes  upon 
the  floor  littered  with  books  and  drawings  and  papers 
torn  from  the  cabinets  and  all  splashed  with  tallow  and 
wax  from  the  candles.  The  daylight  had  increased  until 
the  havoc  wrought  by  the  night's  visitors  was  fully  ap 
parent.  The  marauders  had  made  a  sorry  mess  of  the 
room,  and  I  thought  Bates'  lip  quivered  as  he  saw  the 
wreck. 


245 

"It  would  have  been  a  blow  to  Mr.  Glenarm ;  the  room 
was  his  pride, — his  pride,  sir." 

He  went  out  toward  the  kitchen,  and  I  ran  up  stairs 
to  my  own  room.  I  cursed  the  folly  that  had  led  me  to 
leave  my  window  open,  for  undoubtedly  Morgan  and 
his  new  ally,  St.  Agatha's  gardener,  had  taken  advan 
tage  of  it  to  enter  the  house.  Quite  likely,  too,  they  had 
observed  my  absence,  and  this  would  undoubtedly  be 
communicated  to  Pickering.  I  threw  open  my  door 
and  started  back  with  an  exclamation  of  amazement. 

Standing  at  my  chiffonnier,  between  two  windows, 
was  a  man,  clad  in  a  bath-gown — my  own,  I  saw  with 
fury — his  back  to  me,  the  razor  at  his  face,  placidly 
shaving  himself. 

Without  turning  he  addressed  me,  quite  coolly  and 
casually,  as  though  his  being  there  was  the  most  natu 
ral  thing  in  the  world. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Glenarm!  Eather  damaging 
evidence,  that  costume.  I  suppose  it's  the  custom  of  the 
country  for  gentlemen  in  evening  clothes  to  go  out  by 
the  window  and  return  by  the  door.  You  might  think 
the  other  way  round  preferable." 

"Larry !"  I  shouted. 

"Jack !" 

"Kick  that  door  shut  and  lock  it,"  he  commanded,  in 


246    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

a  sharp,  severe  tone  that  I  remembered  well — and  just 
now  welcomed — in  him. 

"How,  why  and  when — ?" 

"Never  mind  about  me.  I'm  here — thrown  the  enemy 
off  for  a  few  days ;  and  you  give  me  lessons  in  current 
history  first,  while  I  climb  into  my  armor.  Pray  pardon 
the  informality — 

He  seized  a  broom  and  began  work  upon  a  pair  of 
trousers  to  which  mud  and  briers  clung  tenaciously. 
His  coat  and  hat  lay  on  a  chair,  they,  too,  much  the 
worse  for  rough  wear. 

There  was  never  any  use  in  refusing  to  obey  Larry's 
orders,  and  as  he  got  into  his  clothes  I  gave  him  in  as 
few  words  as  possible  the  chief  incidents  that  had 
marked  my  stay  at  Glenarm  House.  He  continued  dress 
ing  with  care,  helping  himself  to  a  shirt  and  collar  from 
my  chiffonnier  and  choosing  with  unfailing  eye  the 
best  tie  in  my  collection.  Now  and  then  he  asked  a 
question  tersely,  or,  again,  he  laughed  or  swore  direly  in 
Gaelic.  When  I  had  concluded  the  story  of  Pickering's 
visit,  and  of  the  conversation  I  overheard  between  the 
executor  and  Bates  in  the  church  porch,  Larry  wheeled 
round  with  the  scarf  half-tied  in  his  fingers  and  sur 
veyed  me  commiseratingly. 

"And  you  didn't  rush  them  both  on  the  spot  and  have 
it  out?" 


I   MEET   AN   OLD   FRIEND  247 

"No.    I  was  too  much  taken  aback,  for  one  thing — " 

"I  dare  say  you  were !" 

"And  for  another  I  didn't  think  the  time  ripe.  I'm 
going  to  beat  that  fellow,  Larry,  but  I  want  him  to 
show  his  hand  fully  before  we  come  to  a  smash-up.  I 
know  as  much  about  the  house  and  its  secrets  as  he  does, 
— that's  one  consolation.  Sometimes  I  don't  believe 
there's  a  shilling  here,  and  again  I'm  sure  there's  a  big 
stake  in  it.  The  fact  that  Pickering  is  risking  so  much 
to  find  what's  supposed  to  be  hidden  here  is  pretty  fair 
evidence  that  something's  buried  on  the  place." 

"Possibly,  but  they're  giving  you  a  lively  boycott. 
Now  where  in  the  devil  have  you  been  ?" 

"Well, — "  I  began  and  hesitated.  I  had  not  men 
tioned  Marian  Devereux  and  this  did  not  seem  the  time 
for  confidences  of  that  sort. 

He  took  a  cigarette  from  his  pocket  and  lighted  it. 

"Bah,  these  women !  Under  the  terms  of  your  revered 
grandfather's  will  you  have  thrown  away  all  your  rights. 
It  looks  to  me,  as  a  member  of  the  Irish  bar  in  bad 
standing,  as  though  you  had  delivered  yourself  up  to 
the  enemy,  so  far  as  the  legal  situation  is  concerned. 
How  does  it  strike  you  ?" 

"Of  course  I've  forfeited  my  rights.  But  I  don't 
mean  that  any  one  shall  know  it  yet  a  while." 

"My  lad,  don't  deceive  yourself.     Everybody  round 


248     THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

here  will  know  it  before  night.  You  ran  off,  left  your 
window  open  invitingly,  and  two  gentlemen  who  raedi-  < 
tated  breaking  in  found  that  the}"  needn't  take  the  trou 
ble.  One  came  in  through  }rour  own  room,  noting,  of 
course,  your  absence,  let  in  his  friend  below,  and  tore 
up  the  place  regrettably." 

"Yes,  but  how  did  you  get  here? — if  you  don't  mind 
telling." 

"It's  a  short  story.  That  little  chap  from  Scotland 
Yard,  who  annoyed  me  so  much  in  New  York  and  drove 
me  to  Mexico — for  which  may  he  dwell  for  ever  in  fiery 
torment — has  never  given  up.  I  shook  him  off,  though, 
at  Indianapolis  three  days  ago.  I  bought  a  ticket  for 
Pittsburg  with  him  at  my  elbow.  I  suppose  he  thought 
the  chase  was  growing  tame,  and  that  the  farther  east 
he  could  arrest  me  the  nearer  I  should  be  to  a  Brit 
ish  consul  and  tide-water.  I  went  ahead  of  him  into  the 
station  and  out  to  the  Pittsburg  sleeper.  I  dropped  my 
bag  into  my  section — if  that's  what  they  call  it  in  your 
atrocious  American  language — looked  out  and  saw  him 
coming  along  the  platform.  Just  then  the  car  began  to 
move, — they  were  shunting  it  about  to  attach  a  sleeper 
that  had  been  brought  in  from  Louisville,  and  my  car 
riage,  or  whatever  you  call  it,  went  skimming  out  of 
the  sheds  into  a  yard  where  everything  seemed  to  be 
most  noisy  and  complex.  I  dropped  off  in  the  dark 


I    MEET    AN    OLD    FBIEND  249 

just  before  they  began  to  haul  the  carriage  back.  A 
long  train  of  empty  goods  wagons  was  just  pulling 
out  and  I  threw  my  bag  into  a  wagon  and  climbed  after 
it.  We  kept  going  for  an  hour  or  so  until  I  was  thor 
oughly  lost,  then  I  took  advantage  of  a  stop  at  a  place 
that  seemed  to  be  the  end  of  terrestrial  things,  got  out 
and  started  across  country.  I  expressed  my  bag  to  you 
the  other  day  from  a  town  that  rejoiced  in  the  cheering 
name  of  Kokomp,  just  to  get  rid  of  it.  I  walked  into 
Annandale  about  midnight,  found  this  medieval  marvel 
through  the  kindness  of  the  station-master  and  was  re- 
connoitering  with  my  usual  caution  when  I  saw  a  gen 
tleman  romantically  entering  through  an  open  window." 

Larry  paused  to  light  a  fresh  cigarette. 

"You  always  did  have  a  way  of  arriving  opportunely. 
Goon!" 

"It  pleased  my  fancy  to  follow  him ;  and  by  the  time 
I  had  studied  your  diggings  here  a  trifle,  things  be 
gan  to  happen  below.  It  sounded  like  a  St.  Patrick's 
Day  celebration  in  an  Irish  village,  and  I  went  down  at 
a  gallop  to  see  if  there  was  any  chance  of  breaking  in. 
Have  you  seen  the  room?  Well," — he  gave  several 
turns  to  his  right  wrist,  as  though  to  test  it, — "we  all 
had  a  jolly  time  there  by  the  fireplace.  Another  chap 
had  got  in  somewhere,  so  there  were  two  of  them.  Your 
man — I  suppose  it's  your  man — was  defending  himself 


250     THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

gallantly  with  a  large  thing  of  brass  that  looked  like 
the  pipes  of  a  grand  organ — and  I  sailed  in  with  a  chair. 
My  presence  seemed  to  surprise  the  attacking  party, 
who  evidently  thought  I  was  you, — flattering,  I  must 
say,  to  me !" 

"You  undoubtedly  saved  Bates'  life  and  prevented  the 
rifling  of  the  house.  And  after  you  had  poured  water 
on  Bates, — he's  the  servant, — you  came  up  here — " 

"That's  the  way  of  it." 

"You're  a  brick,  Larry  Donovan.  There's  only  one  of 
you ;  and  now — " 

"And  now,  John  Glenarm,  we've  got  to  get  down  to 
business, — or  you  must.  As  for  me,  after  a  few  hours 
of  your  enlivening  society — " 

"You  don't  go  a  step  until  we  go  together, — no,  by 
the  beard  of  the  prophet !  I've  a  fight  on  here  and  I'm 
going  to  win  if  I  die  in  the  struggle,  and  you've  got  to 
stay  with  me  to  the  end.'7 

"But  under  the  will  you  dare  not  take  a  boarder." 

"Of  course  I  dare!  That  will's  as  though  it  had 
never  been  as  far  as  I'm  concerned.  My  grandfather 
never  expected  me  to  sit  here  alone  and  be  murdered. 
John  Marshall  Glenarm  wasn't  a  fool  exactly  I" 

"No,  but  a  trifle  queer,  I  should  say.  I  don't  have 
to  tell  you,  old  man,  that  this  situation  appeals  to  me. 


I   MEET   AN   OLD   FRIEND  251 

It's  my  kind  of  a  job.  If  it  weren't  that  the  hounds  are 
at  my  heels  I'd  like  to  stay  with  you,  but  you  have 
enough  trouble  on  hands  without  opening  the  house  to 
an  attack  by  my  enemies." 

"Stop  talking  about  it.  I  don't  propose  to  be  desert 
ed  by  the  only  friend  I  have  in  the  world  when  I'm  up 
to  my  eyes  in  trouble.  Let's  go  down  and  get  some 
coffee." 

We  found  Bates  trying  to  remove  the  evidences  of  the 
night's  struggle.  He  had  fastened  a  cold  pack  about  his 
head  and  limped  slightly;  otherwise  he  was  the  same — 
silent  and  inexplicable. 

Daylight  had  not  improved  the  appearance  of  the 
room.  Several  hundred  books  lay  scattered  over  the 
floor,  and  the  shelves  which  had  held  them  were  hacked 
and  broken. 

"Bates,  if  you  can  give  us  some  coffee — ?  Let  the 
room  go  for  the  present." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  Bates—" 

He  paused  and  Larry's  keen  eyes  were  bent  sharply 
upon  him. 

"Mr.  Donovan  is  a  friend  who  will  be  with  me  for 
some  time.  We'll  fix  up  his  room  later  in  the  day." 

He  limped  out,  Larry's  eyes  following  him. 


25$    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAXD  CAXDLES 

ffWhat  do  you  think  of  that  fellow?"  I  asked. 

Larnrs  face  wore  a  puzzled  look. 

4sf\That  do  yon  call  him, — Bates?  He's  a  plucky  fel 
low." 

Larry  picked  up  from  the  hearth  the  big  cande 
labrum  with  which  Bates  had  defended  himself.  It 
was  badly  bent  and  twisted,  and  Larry  grinned. 

The  fellow  who  went  out  through  the  front  door 
probably  isn't  feeling  very  well  to-day.  Your  man  was 
swinging  this  thing  like  a  windmill." 

"I  can't  understand  it,"  I  muttered.  "I  can't,  for 
the  life  of  me,  see  why  he  should  have  given  battle  to 
the  enemy.  They  all  belong  to  Pickering,  and  Bates  is 
the  biggest  rascal  of  the  bunch." 

<4Humph  *  weTl  consider  that  later.  And  would  you 
mind  telling  me  what  kind  of  a  tallow  foundry  this  is? 
I  nerer  saw  so  many  candlesticks  in  my  life.  I  seem 
to  taste  tallow.  I  had  no  letters  from  you,  and  I  sup 
posed  you  were  loafing  quietly  in  a  grim  farm-house, 
dying  of  ennui,  and  here  you  are  in  an  establishment 
that  ought  to  be  the  imperial  residence  of  an  Eskimo 
chief.  Possibly  you  hare  crude  petroleum  for  soup  and 
whipped  salad-oil  for  dessert.  I  declare,  a  man  living 
here  ought  to  attain  a  high  candle-power  of  luminosity. 
Ifs  perfectly  immense."  He  stared  and  laughed.  "And 
hidden  treasure,  and  night  attacks,  and  young  virgins 


I   MEET   AN   OLD   FRIEXD  253 

in  the  middle  distance, — yes,  I'd  really  like  to  stay  a 
while." 

As  we  ate  breakfast  I  filled  in  gaps  I  had  left  in  my 
hurried  narrative,  with  relief  that  I  can  not  describe  fill 
ing  my  heart  as  I  leaned  again  upon  the  sympathy  of 
an  old  and  trusted  friend. 

As  Bates  came  and  went  I  marked  Larry's  scrutiny  of 
the  man.  I  dismissed  him  as  soon  as  possible  that  we 
might  talk  freely. 

'Take  it  up  and  down  and  all  around,  what  do  you 
think  of  all  this  ?"  I  asked. 

Larry  was  silent  for  a  moment;  he  was  not  given  to 
careless  speech  in  personal  matters. 

"There's  more  to  it  than  frightening  you  off  or  get 
ting  your  grandfather's  money.  If s  my  guess  that 
there's  something  in  this  house  that  somebody — Picker 
ing  supposedly — is  very  anxious  to  find." 

"Yes;  I  begin  to  think  so.  He  could  come  in  here 
legally  if  it  were  merely  a  matter  of  searching  for  lost 
assets." 

"Yes ;  and  whatever  it  is  it  must  be  well  hidden.  As 
I  remember,  your  grandfather  died  in  June.  You  got 
a  letter  calling  you  home  in  October." 

"It  was  sent  out  blindly,  with  not  one  chance  in  a 
hundred  that  it  would  ever  reach  me." 

"To  be  sure.  You  were  a  wanderer  on  the  face  of  the 


254:  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

earth,  and  there  was  nobody  in  America  to  look  after 
your  interests.  You  may  be  sure  that  the  place  was 
thoroughly  ransacked  while  you  were  sailing  home.  I'll 
wager  you  the  best  dinner  you  ever  ate  that  there's  more 
at  stake  than  your  grandfather's  money.  The  situation 
is  inspiring.  I  grow  interested.  I'm  almost  persuaded 
to  linger." 


CHAPTEE  XX 

A  TEIPLE  ALLIANCE 

Larry  refused  to  share  my  quarters  and  chose  a  room 
for  himself,  which  Bates  fitted  up  out  of  the  house 
stores.  I  did  not  know  what  Bates  might  surmise  about 
Larry,  but  he  accepted  my  friend  in  good  part,  as  a 
guest  who  would  remain  indefinitely.  He  seemed  to  in 
terest  Larry,  whose  eyes  followed  the  man  inquiringly. 
When  we  went  into  Bates'  room  on  our  tour  of  the 
house,  Larry  scanned  the  books  on  a  little  shelf  with 
something  more  than  a  casual  eye.  There  were  exactly 
four  volumes, — Shakespeare's  Comedies,  The  Faerie 
Queen,  Sterne's  Sentimental  Journey  and  Yeats'  Land 
of  Heart's  Desire. 

"A  queer  customer,  Larry.  Nobody  but  my  grand 
father  could  ever  have  discovered  him — he  found  him 
up  in  Vermont." 

"I  suppose  his  being  a  bloomin'  Yankee  naturally  ac 
counts  for  this,"  remarked  Larry,  taking  from  under  the 
pillow  of  the  narrow  iron  bed  a  copy  of  the  Dublin 

Freeman's  Journal. 

255 


256    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CAXDLBS 

"It  is  a  little  odd,"  I  said.  "But  if  you  found  a  Yid 
dish  newspaper  or  an  Egyptian  papyrus  under  his  pillow 
I  should  not  be  surprised." 

"Nor  I,"  said  Larry.  "I'll  wager  that  not  another 
shelf  in  this  part  of  the  world  contains  exactly  that  col 
lection  of  books,  and  nothing  else.  You  will  notice  that 
there  was  once  a  book-plate  in  each  of  these  volumes  and 
that  it's  been  scratched  out  with  care." 

On  a  small  table  were  pen  and  ink  and  a  curious 
much-worn  portfolio. 

"He  always  gets  the  mail  first,  doesn't  he?"  asked 
Larry. 

"Yes,  I  believe  he  does." 

"I  thought  so;  and  I'll  swear  he  never  got  a  letter 
from  Vermont  in  his  life." 

When  we  went  down  Bates  was  limping  about  the 
library,  endeavoring  to  restore  order. 

"Bates,"  I  said  to  him,  "you  are  a  very  curious  per 
son.  I  have  had  a  thousand  and  one  opinions  about  you 
since  I  came  here,  and  I  still  don't  make  you  out." 

He  turned  from  the  shelves,  a  defaced  volume  in  his 
hands. 

"Yes,  sir.  It  was  a  good  deal  that  way  with  your  la 
mented  grandfather.  He  always  said  I  puzzled  him." 

Larry,  safe  behind  the  fellow's  back,  made  no  attempt 
to  conceal  a  smile. 


A   TRIPLE    ALLIANCE  257 

"I  want  to  thank  you  for  your  heroic  efforts  to  pro 
tect  the  house  last  night.  You  acted  nobly,  and  I  must 
confess,  Bates,  that  I  didn't  think  it  was  in  you.  You've 
got  the  right  stuff  in  you ;  I'm  only  sorry  that  there  are 
black  pages  in  your  record  that  I  can't  reconcile  with 
your  manly  conduct  of  last  night.  But  we've  got  to 
come  to  an  understanding." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"The  most  outrageous  attacks  have  been  made  on  me 
since  I  came  here.  You  know  what  I  mean  well  enough. 
Mr.  Glenarm  never  intended  that  I  should  sit  down  in 
his  house  and  be  killed  or  robbed.  He  was  the  gentlest 
being  that  ever  lived,  and  I'm  going  to  fight  for  his 
memory  and  to  protect  his  property  from  the  scoundrels 
who  have  plotted  against  me.  I  hope  you  follow  me." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Glenarm."  He  was  regarding  me  atten 
tively.  His  lips  quavered,  perhaps  from  weakness,  for 
he  certainly  looked  ill. 

"Now  I  offer  you  your  choice, — either  to  stand  loyally 
by  me  and  my  grandfather's  house  or  to  join  these 
scoundrels  Arthur  Pickering  has  hired  to  drive  me  out. 
I'm  not  going  to  bribe  you, — I  don't  offer  you  a  cent  for 
standing  by  me,  but  I  won't  have  a  traitor  in  the  house, 
and  if  you  don't  like  me  or  my  terms  I  want  you  to  go 
and  go  now." 

He  straightened  quickly, — his  eyes  lighted  and  the 


258    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CAXDLES 

color  crept  into  his  face.  I  had  never  before  seen  him 
appear  so  like  a  human  being. 

"Mr.  Glenarm,  you  have  been  hard  on  me ;  there  have 
been  times  when  you  have  been  very  unjust — " 

"Unjust, — my  God,  what  do  you  expect  me  to 
take  from  you!  Haven't  I  known  that  you  were  in 
league  with  Pickering?  I'm  not  as  dull  as  I  look,  and 
after  your  interview  with  Pickering  in  the  chapel  porch 
you  can't  convince  me  that  you  were  faithful  to  my  in 
terests  at  that  time." 

He  started  and  gazed  at  me  wonderingly.  I  had  had 
no  intention  of  using  the  chapel  porch  interview  at  this 
time,  but  it  leaped  out  of  me  uncontrollably. 

"I  suppose,  sir,"  he  began  brokenly,  "that  I  can  hard 
ly  persuade  you  that  I  meant  no  wrong  on  that  occa 
sion." 

"You  certainly  can  not, — and  it's  safer  for  you  not 
to  try.  But  I'm  willing  to  let  all  that  go  as  a  reward 
for  your  work  last  night.  Make  your  choice  now;  stay 
here  and  stop  your  spying  or  clear  out  of  Annandale 
within  an  hour." 

He  took  a  step  toward  me ;  the  table  was  between  us 
and  he  drew  quite  near  but  stood  clear  of  it,  erect  until 
there  was  something  almost  soldierly  and  commanding 
in  his  figure. 

"By  God,  I  will  stand  by  you,  John  Glenarm !"  he 


A    TRIPLE    ALLIANCE  259 

said,  and  struck  the  table  smartly  with  his  clenched 
hand. 

He  flushed  instantly,  and  I  felt  the  blood  mounting 
into  my  own  face  as  we  gazed  at  each  other, — he,  Bates, 
the  servant,  and  I,  his  master !  He  had  always  addressed 
me  so  punctiliously  with  the  "sir"  of  respect  that  his 
declaration  of  fealty,  spoken  with  so  sincere  and  vigor 
ous  an  air  of  independence,  and  with  the  bold  emphasis 
of  the  oath,  held  me  spellbound,  staring  at  him.  The 
silence  was  broken  by  Larry,  who  sprang  forward  and 
grasped  Bates'  hand. 

"I,  too,  Bates,"  I  said,  feeling  my  heart  leap  with 
liking,  even  with  admiration  for  the  real  manhood  that 
seemed  to  transfigure  this  hireling, — this  fellow  whom  I 
had  charged  with  most  infamous  treachery,  this  servant 
who  had  cared  for  my  needs  in  so  humble  a  spirit  of 
subjection. 

The  knocker  on  the  front  door  sounded  peremptorily, 
and  Bates  turned  away  without  another  word,  and  ad 
mitted  Stoddard,  who  came  in  hurriedly. 

"Merry  Christmas!"  in  his  big  hearty  tones  was 
hardly  consonant  with  the  troubled  look  on  his  face.  I 
introduced  him  to  Larry  and  asked  him  to  sit  down. 

"Pray  excuse  our  disorder, — we  didn't  do  it  for  fun ; 
it  was  one  of  Santa  Glaus'  tricks." 

He  stared  about  wonderingly. 


260     THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"So  you  caught  it,  too,  did  you?" 

"To  be  sure.  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  they  raided 
the  chapel  ?" 

"That's  exactly  what  I  mean  to  say.  When  I  went 
into  the  church  for  my  early  service  I  found  that  some 
one  had  ripped  off  the  wainscoting  in  a  half  a  dozen 
places  and  even  pried  up  the  altar.  It's  the  most  out 
rageous  thing  I  ever  knew.  You've  heard  of  the  pro 
verbial  poverty  of  the  church  mouse, — what  do  you  sup 
pose  anybody  could  want  to  raid  a  simple  little  country 
chapel  for?  And  more  curious  yet,  the  church  plate 
was  untouched,  though  the  closet  where  it's  kept  was 
upset,  as  though  the  miscreants  had  been  looking  for 
something  they  didn't  find." 

Stoddard  was  greatly  disturbed,  and  gazed  about  the 
topsy-turvy  library  with  growing  indignation. 

We  drew  together  for  a  council  of  war.  Here  was  an 
opportunity  to  enlist  a  new  recruit  on  my  side.  I  al 
ready  felt  stronger  by  reason  of  Larry's  accession;  as  to 
Bates,  my  mind  was  still  numb  and  bewildered. 

"Larry,  there's  no  reason  why  we  shouldn't  join  forces 
with  Mr.  Stoddard,  as  he  seems  to  be  affected  by  this 
struggle.  We  owe  it  to  him  and  the  school  to  put  him 
on  guard,  particularly  since  we  know  that  Ferguson's 
with  the  enemy." 


A   TRIPLE   ALLIANCE  261 

"Yes,  certainly,"  said  Larry. 

He  always  liked  or  disliked  new  people  unequivocally, 
and  I  was  glad  to  see  that  he  surveyed  the  big  clergy 
man  with  approval. 

"I'll  begin  at  the  beginning,"  I  said,  "and  tell  you 
the  whole  story." 

He  listened  quietly  to  the  end  while  I  told  him  of  my 
experience  with  Morgan,  of  the  tunnel  into  the  chapel 
crypt,  and  finally  of  the  affair  in  the  night  and  our  in 
terview  with  Bates. 

"I  feel  like  rubbing  my  eyes  and  accusing  you  of 
reading  penny-horrors,"  he  said.  "That  doesn't  sound 
like  the  twentieth  century  in  Indiana." 

"But  Ferguson, — you'd  better  have  a  care  in  his  di 
rection.  Sister  Theresa — 

"Bless  your  heart !  Ferguson's  gone — without  notice. 
He  got  his  traps  and  skipped  without  saying  a  word  to 
any  one." 

"We'll  hear  from  him  again,  no  doubt.  Now,  gentle 
men,  I  believe  we  understand  one  another.  I  don't  like 
to  draw  you,  either  one  of  you,  into  my  private  af 
fairs—" 

The  big  chaplain  laughed. 

"Glenarm," — prefixes  went  out  of  commission  quick 
ly  that  morning, — "if  you  hadn't  let  me  in  on  this  I 


262     THE  HOUSE  OP  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

should  never  have  got  over  it.  Why,  this  is  a  page  out 
of  the  good  old  times !  Bless  me !  I  never  appreciated 
your  grandfather !  I  must  run — I  have  another  service. 
But  I  hope  you  gentlemen  will  call  on  me,  day  or  night, 
for  anything  I  can  do  to  help  you.  Please  don't  forget 
me.  I  had  the  record  once  for  putting  the  shot." 

"Why  not  give  our  friend  escort  through  the  tunnel  ?" 
asked  Larry.  "I'll  not  hesitate  to  say  that  I'm  dying 
to  see  it." 

"To  be  sure!"  We  went  down  into  the  cellar,  and 
poked  over  the  lantern  and  candlestick  collections,  and 
I  pointed  out  the  exact  spot  where  Morgan  and  I  had 
indulged  in  our  revolver  duel.  It  was  fortunate  that 
the  plastered  walls  of  the  cellar  showed  clearly  the  cuts 
and  scars  of  the  pistol-balls  or  I  fear  my  story  would 
have  fallen  on  incredulous  ears. 

The  debris  I  had  piled  upon  the  false  block  of  stone 
in  the  cellar  lay  as  I  had  left  it,  but  the  three  of  us 
quickly  freed  the  trap.  The  humor  of  the  thing  took 
strong  hold  of  my  new  allies,  and  while  I  was  getting  a 
lantern  to  light  us  through  the  passage  Larry  sat  on  the 
edge  of  the  trap  and  howled  a  few  bars  of  a  wild  Irish 
jig.  We  set  forth  at  once  and  found  the  passage  un 
changed.  When  the  cold  air  blew  in  upon  us  I  paused. 

"Have  you  gentlemen  the  slightest  idea  of  where 
you  are?" 


A   TRIPLE   ALLIANCE  263 

"We  must  be  under  the  school-grounds,  I  should  say/' 
replied  Stoddard. 

"We're  exactly  under  the  stone  wall.  Those  tall  posts 
at  the  gate  are  a  scheme  for  keeping  fresh  air  in  the 
passage." 

"You  certainly  have  all  the  modern  improvements," 
observed  Larry,  and  I  heard  him  chuckling  all  the  way 
to  the  crypt  door. 

When  I  pushed  the  panel  open  and  we  stepped  out 
into  the  crypt  Stoddard  whistled  and  Larry  swore 
softly. 

"It  must  be  for  something !"  exclaimed  the  chaplain. 
"You  don't  suppose  Mr.  Glenarm  built  a  secret  passage 
just  for  the  fun  of  it,  do  you  ?  He  must  have  had  some 
purpose.  Why,  I  sleep  out  here  within  forty  yards  of 
where  we  stand  and  I  never  had  the  slightest  idea  of 
this." 

"But  other  people  seem  to  know  of  it,"  observed 
Larry. 

"To  be  sure;  the  curiosity  of  the  whole  countryside 
was  undoubtedly  piqued  by  the  building  of  Glenarm 
House.  The  fact  that  workmen  were  brought  from  a 
distance  was  in  itself  enough  to  arouse  interest.  Mor 
gan  seems  to  have  discovered  the  passage  without  any 
trouble." 

"More  likely  it  was  Ferguson.    He  was  the  sexton  of 


264  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CAXDLES 

the  church  and  had  a  chance  to  investigate,"  said  Stod- 
dard.  "And  now,  gentlemen,  I  must  go  to  my  service. 
I'll  see  you  again  before  the  day  is  over." 

"And  we  make  no  confidences !"  I  admonished. 

"'Sdeath ! — I  believe  that  is  the  proper  expression  un 
der  all  the  circumstances."  And  the  Eeverend  Paul 
Stoddard  laughed,  clasped  my  hand  and  went  up  into 
the  chapel  vestry. 

I  closed  the  door  in  the  wainscoting  and  hung  the 
map  back  in  place. 

We  went  up  into  the  little  chapel  and  found  a  small 
company  of  worshipers  assembled, — a  few  people  from 
the  surrounding  farms,  half  a  dozen  Sisters  sitting  som 
berly  near  the  chancel  and  the  school  servants. 

Stoddard  came  out  into  the  chancel,  lighted  the  altar 
tapers  and  began  the  Anglican  communion  office.  I  had 
forgotten  what  a  church  service  was  like;  and  Larry,  I 
felt  sure,  had  not  attended  church  since  the  last  time 
his  family  had  dragged  him  to  choral  vespers. 

It  was  comforting  to  know  that  here  was,  at  least,  one 
place  of  peace  within  reach  of  Glenarm  House.  But  I 
may  be  forgiven,  I  hope,  if  my  mind  wandered  that 
morning,  and  my  thoughts  played  hide-and-seek  with 
memory.  For  it  was  here,  in  the  winter  twilight,  that 
Marian  Devereux  had  poured  out  her  girl's  heart  in  a 
great  flood  of  melody.  I  was  glad  that  the  organ  was 


A   TRIPLE   ALLIANCE  265 

closed;  it  would  have  wrung  my  heart  to  hear  a  note 
from  it  that  her  hands  did  not  evoke. 

When  we  came  out  upon  the  church  porch  and  I  stood 
on  the  steps  to  allow  Larry  to  study  the  grounds,  one  of 
the  brown-robed  Sisterhood  spoke  my  name. 

It  was  Sister  Theresa. 

" Can  you  come  in  for  a  moment  ?"  she  asked. 

"I  will  follow  at  once,"  I  said. 

She  met  me  in  the  reception-room  where  I  had  seen 
her  before. 

"I'm  sorry  to  trouble  you  on  Christmas  Day  with  my 
affairs,  but  I  have  had  a  letter  from  Mr.  Pickering,  say 
ing  that  he  will  be  obliged  to  bring  suit  for  settlement 
of  my  account  with  Mr.  Glenarm's  estate.  I  needn't 
say  that  this  troubles  me  greatly.  In  my  position  a  law 
suit  is  uncomfortable;  it  would  do  a  real  harm  to  the 
school.  Mr.  Pickering  implies  in  a  very  disagreeable 
way  that  I  exercised  an  undue  influence  over  Mr.  Glen- 
arm.  You  can  readily  understand  that  that  is  not  a 
pleasant  accusation." 

"He  is  going  pretty  far,"  I  said. 

"He  gives  me  credit  for  a  degree  of  power  over  others 
that  I  regret  to  say  I  do  not  possess.  He  thinks,  for  in 
stance,  that  I  am  responsible  for  Miss  Devereux's  atti 
tude  toward  him, — something  that  I  have  had  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with." 


266     THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"No,  of  course  not." 

"Fm  glad  you  have  no  harsh  feeling  toward  her.  It 
was  unfortunate  that  Mr.  Glenarm  saw  fit  to  mention 
her  in  his  will.  It  has  given  her  a  great  deal  of  notori 
ety,  and  has  doubtless  strengthened  the  impression  in 
some  minds  that  she  and  I  really  plotted  to  get  as  much 
as  possible  of  your  grandfather's  estate/' 

"No  one  would  regret  all  this  more  than  my  grand 
father, — I  am  sure  of  that.  There  are  many  inexpli 
cable  things  about  his  affairs.  It  seems  hardly  possible 
that  a  man  so  shrewd  as  he,  and  so  thoughtful  of  the 
feelings  of  others,  should  have  left  so  many  loose  ends 
behind  him.  But  I  assure  you  I  am  giving  my  whole 
attention  to  these  matters,  and  I  am  wholly  at  your 
service  in  anything  I  can  do  to  help  you." 

"I  sincerely  hope  that  nothing  may  interfere  to  pre 
vent  your  meeting  Mr.  Glenarm's  wish  that  you  remain 
through  the  year.  That  was  a  curious  and  whimsical 
provision,  but  it  is  not,  I  imagine,  so  difficult." 

She  spoke  in  a  kindly  tone  of  encouragement  that 
made  me  feel  uneasy  and  almost  ashamed  for  having 
already  forfeited  my  claim  under  the  will.  Her  beauti 
ful  gray  eyes  disconcerted  me;  I  had  not  the  heart  to 
deceive  her. 

"I  have  already  made  it  impossible  for  me  to  inherit 
under  the  will,"  I  said. 


A    TRIPLE    ALLIANCE  267 

The  disappointment  in  her  face  rebuked  me  sharply. 

"I  am  sorry,  very  sorry,  indeed,"  she  said  coldly. 
"But  how,  may  I  ask  ?" 

"I  ran  away,  last  night.  I  went  to  Cincinnati  to  see 
Miss  Devereux." 

She  rose,  staring  in  dumb  astonishment,  and  after  a 
full  minute  in  which  I  tried  vainly  to  think  of  some 
thing  to  say,  I  left  the  house. 

There  is  nothing  in  the  world  so  tiresome  as  explana 
tions,  and  I  have  never  in  my  life  tried  to  make  them 
without  floundering  into  seas  of  trouble. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

PICKERING  SERVES  NOTICE 

The  next  morning  Bates  placed  a  letter  postmarked 
Cincinnati  at  my  plate.  I  opened  and  read  it  aloud  to 
Larry : 

On  Board  the  Heloise 

December  25,  1901. 
John  Glenarm,  Esq., 
Glenarm  House, 

Annandale,  Wahana  Co.,  Indiana: 

DEAR  SIR — I  have  just  learned  from  what  I  believe  to 
be  a  trustworthy  source  that  you  have  already  violated 
the  terms  of  the  agreement  under  which  you  entered  into 
residence  on  the  property  near  Annandale,  known  as 
Glenarm  House.  The  provisions  of  the  will  of  John  Mar 
shall  Glenarm  are  plain  and  unequivocal,  as  you  undoubt 
edly  understood  when  you  accepted  them,  and  your  ab 
sence,  not  only  from  the  estate  itself,  but  from  Wabana 
County,  violates  beyond  question  your  right  to  inherit. 

I,  as  executor,  therefore  demand  that  you  at  once  vacate 
said  property,  leaving  it  in  as  good  condition  as  when 
received  by  you.  Very  truly  yours, 

ARTHUR  PICKERING, 
Executor  of  the  Estate  of  John  Marshall  Glenarm. 

"Very  truly  the  devil's/'  growled  Larry,  snapping 
his  cigarette  case  viciously. 

268 


PICKEKING    SEEVES    NOTICE          269 

"How  did  he  find  out  ?"  I  asked  lamely,  but  my  heart 
sank  like  lead.  Had  Marian  Devereux  told  him!  How 
else  could  he  know  ? 

"Probably  from  the  stars, — the  whole  universe  un 
doubtedly  saw  you  skipping  off  to  meet  your  lady-love. 
Bah,  these  women !" 

"Tut!  They  don't  all  marry  the  sons  of  brewers," 
I  retorted.  "You  assured  me  once,  while  your  affair 
with  that  Irish  girl  was  on,  that  the  short  upper  lip 
made  Heaven  seem  possible,  but  unnecessary;  then  the 
next  thing  I  knew  she  had  shaken  you  for  the  bloated 
masher.  Take  that  for  your  impertinence.  But  perhaps 
it  was  Bates  ?" 

I  did  not  wait  for  an  answer.  I  was  not  in  a  mood 
for  reflection  or  nice  distinctions.  The  man  came  in 
just  then  with  a  fresh  plate  of  toast. 

"Bates,  Mr.  Pickering  has  learned  that  I  was  away 
from  the  house  on  the  night  of  the  attack,  and  I'm  or 
dered  off  for  having  broken  my  agreement  to  stay  here. 
How  do  you  suppose  he  heard  of  it  so  promptly  ?" 

"From  Morgan,  quite  possibly.  I  have  a  letter  from 
Mr.  Pickering  myself  this  morning.  Just  a  moment, 
sir." 

He  placed  before  me  a  note  bearing  the  same  date  as 
my  own.  It  was  a  sharp  rebuke  of  Bates  for  his  failure 
to  report  my  absence,  and  he  was  ordered  to  prepare  to 


270     THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

leave  on  the  first  of  February.  "Close  your  accounts  at 
the  shopkeepers'  and  I  will  audit  your  bills  on  my  ar 
rival." 

The  tone  was  peremptory  and  contemptuous.  Bates 
had  failed  to  satisfy  Pickering  and  was  flung  off  like  a 
smoked-out  cigar. 

"How  much  had  he  allowed  you  for  expenses,  Bates  ?" 

He  met  my  gaze  imperturbably. 

"He  paid  me  fifty  dollars  a  month  as  wages,  sir,  and 
I  was  allowed  seventy-five  for  other  expenses." 

"But  you  didn't  buy  English  pheasants  and  cham 
pagne  on  that  allowance !" 

He  was  carrying  away  the  coffee  tray  and  his  eyes 
wandered  to  the  windows. 

"Not  quite,  sir.    You  see — " 

"But  I  don't  see !" 

"It  had  occurred  to  me  that  as  Mr.  Pickering's  allow 
ance  wasn't  what  you  might  call  generous  it  was  better 
to  augment  it —  Well,  sir,  I  took  the  liberty  of  ad 
vancing  a  trifle,  as  you  might  say,  to  the  estate.  Your 
grandfather  would  not  have  had  you  starve,  sir." 

He  left  hurriedly,  as  though  to  escape  from  the  con 
sequences  of  his  words,  and  when  I  came  to  myself 
Larry  was  gloomily  invoking  his  strange  Irish  gods. 

"Larry  Donovan,  I've  been  tempted  to  kill  that  fel- 


PICKERING   SERVES   NOTICE          271 

low  a  dozen  times!  This  thing  is  too  damned  compli 
cated  for  me.  I  wish  my  lamented  grandfather  had  left 
me  something  easy.  To  think  of  it — that  fellow,  after 
my  treatment  of  him — my  cursing  and  abusing  him 
since  I  came  here !  Great  Scott,  man,  I've  been  enjoy 
ing  his  bounty,  I've  been  living  on  his  money!  And 
all  the  time  he's  been  trusting  in  me,  just  because  of 
his  dog-like  devotion  to  my  grandfather's  memory. 
Lord,  I  can't  face  the  fellow  again !" 

"As  I  have  said  before,  you're  rather  lacking  at  times 
in  perspicacity.  Your  intelligence  is  marred  by  large 
opaque  spots.  Now  that  there's  a  woman  in  the  case 
you're  less  sane  than  ever.  Bah,  these  women!  And 
now  we've  got  to  go  to  work." 

Bah,  these  women !  My  own  heart  caught  the  words. 
I  was  enraged  and  bitter.  No  wonder  she  had  been 
anxious  for  me  to  avoid  Pickering  after  daring  me  to 
follow  her ! 

We  called  a  council  of  war  for  that  night  that  we 
might  view  matters  in  the  light  of  Pickering's  letter. 
His  assuredness  in  ordering  me  to  leave  made  prompt 
and  decisive  action  necessary  on  my  part.  I  summoned 
Stoddard  to  our  conference,  feeling  confident  of  his 
friendliness. 

"Of  course,"  said  the  broad-shouldered  chaplain,  "if 


272     THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

you  could  show  that  your  absence  was  on  business  of 
very  grave  importance,  the  courts  might  construe  in 
that  you  had  not  really  violated  the  will." 

Larry  looked  at  the  ceiling  and  blew  rings  of  smoke 
languidly.  I  had  not  disclosed  to  either  of  them  the 
cause  of  my  absence.  On  such  a  matter  I  knew  I  should 
get  precious  little  sympathy  from  Larry,  and  I  had, 
moreover,  a  feeling  that  I  could  not  discuss  Marian 
Devereux  with  any  one;  I  even  shrank  from  mention 
ing  her  name,  though  it  rang  like  the  call  of  bugles  in 
my  blood. 

She  was  always  before  me, — the  charmed  spirit  of 
youth,  linked  to  every  foot  of  the  earth,  every  gleam  of 
the  sun  upon  the  ice-bound  lake,  every  glory  of  the  win 
ter  sunset.  All  the  good  impulses  I  had  ever  stifled 
were  quickened  to  life  by  the  thought  of  her.  Amid  the 
day's  perplexities  I  started  sometimes,  thinking  I  heard 
her  voice,  her  girlish  laughter,  or  saw  her  again  coming 
toward  me  down  the  stairs,  or  holding  against  the  light 
her  fan  with  its  golden  butterflies.  I  really  knew  so 
little  of  her;  I  could  associate  her  with  no  home,  only 
with  that  last  fling  of  the  autumn  upon  the  lake,  the 
snow-driven  woodland,  that  twilight  hour  at  the  organ 
in  the  chapel,  those  stolen  moments  at  the  Armstrongs'. 
I  resented  the  pressure  of  the  hour's  affairs,  and  chafed 
at  the  necessity  for  talking  of  my  perplexities  with  the 


PICKERING   SERVES    NOTICE          273 

good  friends  who  were  there  to  help.  I  wished  to  be 
alone,  to  yield  to  the  sweet  mood  that  the  thought  of  her 
brought  me.  The  doubt  that  crept  through  my  mind 
as  to  any  possibility  of  connivance  between  her  and 
Pickering  was  as  vague  and  fleeting  as  the  shadow  of  a 
swallow's  wing  on  a  sunny  meadow. 

"You  don't  intend  fighting  the  fact  of  your  absence, 
do  you  ?"  demanded  Larry,  after  a  long  silence. 

"Of  course  not !"  I  replied  quietly.  "Pickering  was 
right  on  my  heels,  and  my  absence  was  known  to  his 
men  here.  And  it  would  not  be  square  to  my  grandfa 
ther, — who  never  harmed  a  flea,  may  his  soul  rest  in 
blessed  peace ! — to  lie  about  it.  They  might  nail  me  for 
perjury  besides." 

"Then  the  quicker  we  get  ready  for  a  siege  the  better. 
As  I  understand  your  attitude,  you  don't  propose  to 
move  out  until  you've  found  where  the  siller's  hidden. 
Being  a  gallant  gentleman  and  of  a  forgiving  nature, 
you  want  to  be  sure  that  the  lady  who  is  now  entitled  to 
it  gets  all  there  is  coming  to  her,  and  as  you  don't  trust 
the  executor,  any  further  than  a  true  Irishman  trusts  a 
British  prime  minister's  promise,  you're  going  to  stand 
by  to  watch  the  boodle  counted.  Is  that  a  correct  an 
alysis  of  your  intentions  ?" 

"That's  as  near  one  of  my  ideas  as  you're  likely  to 
get,  Larry  Donovan !" 


274    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"And.  if  he  comes  with  the  authorities, — the  sheriff 
and  that  sort  of  thing, — we  must  prepare  for  such  an 
emergency/'  interposed  the  chaplain. 

"So  much  the  worse  for  the  sheriff  and  the  rest  of 
them !"  I  declared. 

"Spoken  like  a  man  of  spirit.  And  now  we'd  better 
stock  up  at  once,  in  case  we  should  be  shut  off  from  our 
source  of  supplies.  This  is  a  lonely  place  here;  even 
the  school  is  a  remote  neighbor.  Better  let  Bates  raid 
the  village  shops  to-morrow.  I've  tried  being  hungry, 
and  I  don't  care  to  repeat  the  experience." 

And  Larry  reached  for  the  tobacco  jar. 

"I  can't  imagine,  I  really  can't  believe,"  began  the 
chaplain,  "that  Miss  Devereux  will  want  to  be  brought 
into  this  estate  matter  in  any  way.  In  fact,  I  have  heard 
Sister  Theresa  say  as  much.  I  suppose  there's  no  way 
of  preventing  a  man  from  leaving  his  property  to  a 
young  woman,  who  has  no  claim  on  him, — who  doesn't 
want  anything  from  him." 

"Bah,  these  women!  People  don't  throw  legacies  to 
the  birds  these  days.  Of  course  she'll  take  it." 

Then  his  eyes  widened  and  met  mine  in  a  gaze  that 
reflected  the  mystification  and  wonder  that  struck  both 
of  us.  Stoddard  turned  from  the  fire  suddenly : 

"What's  that  ?    There's  some  one  up  stairs !" 


PICKERING   SERVES    NOTICE          275 

Larry  was  already  running  toward  the  hall,  and  I 
heard  him  springing  up  the  steps  like  a  cat,  while  Stod- 
dard  and  I  followed. 

"Where's  Bates  ?"  demanded  the  chaplain. 

"I'll  thank  you  for  the  answer,"  I  replied. 

Larry  stood  at  the  top  of  the  staircase,  holding  a 
candle  at  arm's  length  in  front  of  him,  staring  ahout. 

We  could  hear  quite  distinctly  some  one  walking 
on  a  stairway;  the  sounds  were  unmistakable,  just  as 
I  had  heard  them  on  several  previous  occasions,  without 
ever  being  able  to  trace  their  source. 

The  noise  ceased  suddenly,  leaving  us  with  no  hint  of 
its  whereabouts. 

I  went  directly  to  the  rear  of  the  house  and  found 
Bates  putting  the  dishes  away  in  the  pantry. 

"Where  have  you  been?"  I  demanded. 

"Here,  sir ;  I  have  been  clearing  up  the  dinner  things, 
Mr.  Glenarm.  Is  there  anything  the  matter,  sir?" 

"Nothing." 

I  joined  the  others  in  the  library. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  this  feudal  imitation  was 
haunted  ?"  asked  Larry,  in  a  grieved  tone.  "All  it  need 
ed  was  a  cheerful  ghost,  and  now  I  believe  it  lacks  abso 
lutely  nothing.  I'm  increasingly  glad  I  came.  How 
often  does  it  walk?" 


276  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"It's  not  on  a  schedule.  Just  now  it's  the  wind  in 
the  tower  probably;  the  wind  plays  queer  pranks  up 
there  sometimes/* 

"You'll  have  to  do  better  than  that,  Glenarm,"  said 
Stoddard.  "It's  as  still  outside  as  a  country  grave 
yard." 

"Only  the  slaugh  sidhe,  the  people  of  the  faery  hills, 
the  cheerfulest  ghosts  in  the  world,"  said  Larry.  "You 
literal  Saxons  can't  grasp  the  idea,  of  course." 

But  there  was  substance  enough  in  our  dangers  with 
out  pursuing  shadows.  Certain  things  were  planned 
that  night.  We  determined  to  exercise  every  precaution 
to  prevent  a  surprise  from  without,  and  we  resolved 
upon  a  new  and  systematic  sounding  of  walls  and  floors, 
taking  our  clue  from  the  efforts  made  by  Morgan  and 
his  ally  to  find  hiding-places  by  this  process.  Picker 
ing  would  undoubtedly  arrive  shortly,  and  we  wished  to 
anticipate  his  movements  as  far  as  possible. 

We  resolved,  too,  upon  a  day  patrol  of  the  grounds 
and  a  night  guard.  The  suggestion  came,  I  believe, 
from  Stoddard,  whose  interest  in  my  affairs  was  only 
equaled  by  the  fertility  of  his  suggestions.  One  of  us 
should  remain  abroad  at  night,  ready  to  sound  the  alarm 
in  case  of  attack.  Bates  should  take  his  turn  with  the 
rest — Stoddard  insisted  on  it. 

Within  two  days  we  were,  as  Larry  expressed  it,  on  a 


PICKERING   SERVES    NOTICE          277 

war  footing.  We  added  a  couple  of  shot-guns  and  sev 
eral  revolvers  to  my  own  arsenal,  and  piled  the  library 
table  with  cartridge  boxes.  Bates,  acting  as  quarter 
master,  brought  a  couple  of  wagon-loads  of  provisions. 
Stoddard  assembled  a  remarkable  collection  of  heavy 
sticks ;  he  had  more  confidence  in  them,  he  said,  than  in 
gunpowder,  and,  moreover,  he  explained,  a  priest  might 
not  with  propriety  bear  arms. 

It  was  a  cheerful  company  of  conspirators  that  now 
gathered  around  the  big  hearth.  Larry,  always  rest 
less,  preferred  to  stand  at  one  side,  an  elbow  on  the 
mantel-shelf,  pipe  in  mouth;  and  Stoddard  sought  the 
biggest  chair, — and  filled  it.  He  and  Larry  understood 
each  other  at  once,  and  Larry's  stories,  ranging  in  sub 
ject  from  undergraduate  experiences  at  Dublin  to  ad 
ventures  in  Africa  and  always  including  endless  con 
flicts  with  the  Irish  constabulary,  delighted  the  big  boy 
ish  clergyman. 

Often,  at  some  one's  suggestion  of  a  new  idea,  we  ran 
off  to  explore  the  house  again  in  search  of  the  key  to  the 
Glenarm  riddle,  and  always  we  came  back  to  the  library 
with  that  riddle  still  unsolved. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  RETURN  OP  MARIAN  DEVEREUX 

"Sister  Theresa  has  left,  sir." 

Bates  had  been  into  Annandale  to  mail  some  letters, 
and  I  was  staring  out  upon  the  park  from  the  library 
windows  when  he  entered.  Stoddard,  having  kept  watch 
the  night  before,  was  at  home  asleep,  and  Larry  was  off 
somewhere  in  the  house,  treasure-hunting.  I  was  feel 
ing  decidedly  discouraged  over  our  failure  to  make  any 
progress  with  our  investigations,  and  Bates'  news  did 
not  interest  me. 

"Well,  what  of  it?"  I  demanded,  without  turning 
round. 

"Nothing,  sir ;  but  Miss  Devereux  has  come  back !" 

"The  devil !" 

I  turned  and  took  a  step  toward  the  door. 

"I  said  Miss  Devereux,"  he  repeated  in  dignified  re 
buke.  "She  came  up  this  morning,  and  the  Sister  left 
at  once  for  Chicago.  Sister  Theresa  depends  particu 
larly  upon  Miss  Devereux, — so  I've  heard,  sir.  Miss 
Devereux  quite  takes  charge  when  the  Sister  goes  away. 

278 


THE  RETURN  OF  MARIAN  DEVEREUX    279 

A  few  of  the  students  are  staying  in  school  through  the 
holidays." 

"You  seem  full  of  information,"  I  remarked,  taking 
another  step  toward  my  hat  and  coat. 

"And  I've  learned  something  else,  sir." 

"Well?" 

"They  all  came  together,  sir." 

"Who  came;  if  you  please,  Bates?" 

"Why,  the  people  who've  been  traveling  with  Mr. 
Pickering  came  back  with  him,  and  Miss  Devereux  came 
with  them  from  Cincinnati.  That's  what  I  learned  in 
the  village.  And  Mr.  Pickering  is  going  to  stay — " 

"Pickering  stay !" 

"At  his  cottage  on  the  lake  for  a  while.  The  reason 
is  that  he's  worn  out  with  his  work,  and  wishes  quiet. 
The  other  people  went  back  to  New  York  in  the  car." 

"He's  opened  a  summer  cottage  in  mid-winter,  has 
he?" 

I  had  been  blue  enough  without  this  news.  Marian 
Devereux  had  come  back  to  Annandale  with  Arthur 
Pickering;  my  faith  in  her  snapped  like  a  reed  at  this 
astounding  news.  She  was  now  entitled  to  my  grand 
father's  property  and  she  had  lost  no  time  in  returning 
as  soon  as  she  and  Pickering  had  discussed  together  at 
the  Armstrongs'  my  flight  from  Annandale.  Her  re 
turn  could  have  no  other  meaning  than  that  there  was  a 


280     THE  HOUSE  OP  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

strong  tie  between  them,  and  he  was  now  to  stay  on  the 
ground  until  I  should  be  dispossessed  and  her  rights 
established.  She  had  led  me  to  follow  her,  and  my  for 
feiture  had  been  sealed  by  that  stolen  interview  at  the 
Armstrongs'.  It  was  a  black  record,  and  the  thought  of 
it  angered  me  against  myself  and  the  world. 

"Tell  Mr.  Donovan  that  I've  gone  to  St.  Agatha's," 
I  said,  and  I  was  soon  striding  toward  the  school. 

A  Sister  admitted  me.  I  heard  the  sound  of  a  piano, 
somewhere  in  the  building,  and  I  consigned  the  in 
ventor  of  pianos  to  hideous  torment  as  scales  were 
pursued  endlessly  up  and  down  the  keys.  Two  girls 
passing  through  the  hall  made  a  pretext  of  looking  for 
a  book  and  came  in  and  exclaimed  over  their  inability 
to  find  it  with  much  suppressed  giggling. 

The  piano-pounding  continued  and  I  waited  for  what 
seemed  an  interminable  time.  It  was  growing  dark  and 
a  maid  lighted  the  oil  lamps.  I  took  a  book  from  the 
table.  It  was  The  Life  of  Benvenuto  Cellini  and  "Ma 
rian  Devereux"  was  written  on  the  fly  leaf,  by  unmis 
takably  the  same  hand  that  penned  the  apology  for 
Olivia's  performances.  I  saw  in  the  clear  flowing  lines 
of  the  signature,  in  their  lack  of  superfluity,  her  own 
ease,  grace  and  charm;  and,  in  the  deeper  stroke  with 
which  the  x  was  crossed,  I  felt  a  challenge,  a  readiness 
to  abide  by  consequences  once  her  word  was  given. 


THE  RETURN  OF  MARIAX  DEVEREUX    281 

Then  my  own  inclination  to  think  well  of  her  angered 
me.  It  was  only  a  pretty  bit  of  chirography,  and  I 
dropped  the  book  impatiently  when  I  heard  her  step 
on  the  threshold. 

"I  am  sorry  to  have  kept  you  waiting,  Mr.  Glenarm. 
But  this  is  my  busy  hour." 

"I  shall  not  detain  you  long.  I  came," — I  hesitated, 
not  knowing  why  I  had  come. 

She  took  a  chair  near  the  open  door  and  bent  forward 
with  an  air  of  attention  that  was  disquieting.  She 
wore  black — perhaps  to  fit  her  the  better  into  the  house 
of  a  somber  Sisterhood.  I  seemed  suddenly  to  remem 
ber  her  from  a  time  long  gone,  and  the  effort  of  memory 
threw  me  off  guard.  Stoddard  had  said  there  were 
several  Olivia  Armstrongs;  there  were  certainly  many 
Marian  Devereuxs.  The  silence  grew  intolerable;  she 
was  waiting  for  me  to  speak,  and  I  blurted : 

"I  suppose  you  have  come  to  take  charge  of  the  prop 
erty." 

"Do  you  ?"  she  asked. 

"And  you  came  back  with  the  executor  to  facilitate 
matters.  I'm  glad  to  see  that  you  lose  no  time." 

"Oh !"  she  said  lingeringly,  as  though  she  were  find 
ing  with  difficulty  the  note  in  which  I  wished  to  pitch 
the  conversation.  Her  calmness  was  maddening. 

"I  suppose  you  thought  it  unwise  to  wait  for  the 


282    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

bluebird  when  you  had  beguiled  me  into  breaking  a 
promise,  when  I  was  trapped,  defeated, — ' 

Her  elbow  on  the  arm  of  the  chair,  her  hand  resting 
against  her  cheek,  the  light  rippling  goldenly  in  her 
hair,  her  eyes  bent  upon  me  inquiringly,  mournfully, — 
mournfully,  as  I  had  seen  them — where  ? — once  before ! 
My  heart  leaped  in  that  moment,  with  that  thought. 

"I  remember  now  the  first  time !"  I  exclaimed,  more 
angry  than  I  had  ever  been  before  in  my  life. 

"That  is  quite  remarkable,"  she  said,  and  nodded  her 
head  ironically. 

"It  was  at  Sherry's;  you  were  with  Pickering — you 
dropped  your  fan  and  he  picked  it  up,  and  you  turned 
toward  me  for  a  moment.  You  were  in  black  that 
night;  it  was  the  unhappiness  in  your  face,  in  your 
eyes,  that  made  me  remember." 

I  was  intent  upon  the  recollection,  eager  to  fix  and 
establish  it. 

"You  are  quite  right.  It  was  at  Sherry's.  I  was 
wearing  black  then;  many  things  made  me  unhappy 
that  night." 

Her  forehead  contracted  slightly  and  she  pressed  her 
lips  together. 

"I  suppose  that  even  then  the  conspiracy  was  thor 
oughly  arranged,"  I  said  tauntingly,  laughing  a  little 


THE  RETURN  OF  MARIAN  DEVEREUX    283 

perhaps,  and  wishing  to  wound  her,  to  take  vengeance 
upon  her. 

She  rose  and  stood  by  her  chair,  one  hand  resting 
upon  it.  I  faced  her;  her  eyes  were  like  violet  seas. 
She  spoke  very  quietly. 

"Mr.  Glenarm,  has  it  occurred  to  you  that  when  I 
talked  to  you  there  in  the  park,  when  I  risked  unpleas 
ant  gossip  in  receiving  you  in  a  house  where  you  had 
no  possible  right  to  be,  that  I  was  counting  upon  some 
thing, — foolishly  and  stupidly, — yet  counting  upon  it  ?" 

"You  probably  thought  I  was  a  fool,"  I  retorted. 

"No;" — she  smiled  slightly — "I  thought — I  believe 
I  have  said  this  to  you  before ! — you  were  a  gentleman. 
I  really  did,  Mr.  Glenarm.  I  must  say  it  to  justify 
myself.  I  relied  upon  your  chivalry;  I  even  thought, 
when  I  played  being  Olivia,  that  you  had  a  sense  of 
honor.  But  you  are  not  the  one  and  you  haven't  the 
other.  I  even  went  so  far,  after  you  knew  perfectly 
well  who  I  was,  as  to  try  to  help  you — to  give  you  an 
other  chance  to  prove  yourself  the  man  your  grandfather 
wished  you  to  be.  And  now  you  come  to  me  in  a  shock 
ing  bad  humor, — I  really  think  you  would  like  to  be 
insulting,  Mr.  Glenarm,  if  you  could." 

"But  Pickering, — you  came  back  with  him;  he  is 
here  and  he's  going  to  stay !  And  now  that  the  prop- 


284  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

erty  belongs  to  you,  there  is  not  the  slightest  reason  why 
we  should  make  any  pretense  of  anything  but  enmity. 
When  you  and  Arthur  Pickering  stand  together  I  take 
the  other  side  of  the  barricade!  I  suppose  chivalry 
would  require  me  to  vacate,  so  that  you  may  enjoy  at 
once  the  spoils  of  war.*' 

"I  fancy  it  would  not  be  very  difficult  to  eliminate 
you  as  a  factor  in  the  situation,"  she  remarked  icily. 

"And  I  suppose,  after  the  unsuccessful  efforts  of  Mr. 
Pickering's  allies  to  assassinate  me,  as  a  mild  form  of 
elimination,  one  would  naturally  expect  me  to  sit  calmly 
down  and  wait  to  be  shot  in  the  back.  But  you  may  tell 
Mr.  Pickering  that  I  throw  myself  upon  your  mercy. 
I  have  no  other  home  than  this  shell  over  the  way,  and 
I  beg  to  be  allowed  to  remain  until — at  least — the  blue 
birds  come.  I  hope  it  will  not  embarrass  you  to  deliver 
the  message." 

"I  quite  sympathize  with  your  reluctance  to  deliver 
it  yourself,"  she  said.  "Is  this  all  you  came  to  say  ?" 

"I  came  to  tell  you  that  you  could  have  the  house, 
and  everything  in  its  hideous  walls,"  I  snapped;  "to 
tell  you  that  my  chivalry  is  enough  for  some  situations 
and  that  I  don't  intend  to  fight  a  woman.  I  had  ac 
cepted  your  own  renouncement  of  the  legacy  in  good 
part,  but  now,  please  believe  me,  it  shall  be  yours  to- 


THE  RETURN  OF  MARIAN  DEVEREUX    285 

morrow.  I'll  yield  possession  to  you  whenever  you  ask 
it, — but  never  to  Arthur  Pickering!  As  against  him 
and  his  treasure-hunters  and  assassins  I  will  hold  out 
for  a  dozen  years !" 

"Nobly  spoken,  Mr.  Glenarm !  Yours  is  really  an 
admirable,  though  somewhat  complex  character." 

"My  character  is  my  own,  whatever  it  is,"  I  blurted. 

"I  shouldn't  call  that  a  debatable  proposition,"  she 
replied,  and  I  was  angry  to  find  how  the  mirth  I  had 
loved  in  her  could  suddenly  become  so  hateful.  She 
half -turned  away  so  that  I  might  not  see  her  face.  The 
thought  that  she  should  countenance  Pickering  in  any 
way  tore  me  with  jealous  rage. 

"Mr.  Glenarm,  you  are  what  I  have  heard  called  a 
quitter,  defined  in  common  Americanese  as  one  who 
quits !  Your  blustering  here  this  afternoon  can  hardly 
conceal  the  fact  of  your  failure, — your  inability  to  keep 
a  promise.  I  had  hoped  you  would  really  be  of  some 
help  to  Sister  Theresa;  you  quite  deceived  her, — she 
told  me  as  she  left  to-day  that  she  thought  well  of  you, 
— she  really  felt  that  her  fortunes  were  safe  in  your 
hands.  But,  of  course,  that  is  all  a  matter  of  past  his 
tory  now." 

Her  tone,  changing  from  cold  indifference  to  the 
most  severe  disdain,  stung  me  into  self-pity  for  my  stu- 


286     THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

pidity  in  having  sought  her.  My  anger  was  not  against 
her,  but  against  Pickering,  who  had,  I  persuaded  myself, 
always  blocked  my  path.  She  went  on. 

"You  really  amuse  me  exceedingly.  Mr.  Pickering 
is  decidedly  more  than  a  match  for  you,  Mr.  Glenarm, 
— even  in  humor." 

She  left  me  so  quickly,  so  softly,  that  I  stood  staring 
like  a  fool  at  the  spot  where  she  had  been,  and  then  I 
went  gloomily  back  to  Glenarm  House,  angry,  ashamed 
and  crestfallen. 

While  we  were  waiting  for  dinner  I  made  a  clean 
breast  of  my  acquaintance  with  her  to  Larry,  omitting 
nothing, — rejoicing  even  to  paint  my  own  conduct  as 
black  as  possible. 

"You  may  remember  her,"  I  concluded,  "she  was  the 
girl  we  saw  at  Sherry's  that  night  we  dined  there.  She 
was  with  Pickering,  and  you  noticed  her, — spoke  of  her, 
as  she  went  out." 

"That  little  girl  who  seemed  so  bored,  or  tired  ?  Bless 
me!  Why  her  eyes  haunted  me  for  days.  Lord  man, 
do  you  mean  to  say — " 

A  look  of  utter  scorn  came  into  his  face,  and  he  eyed 
me  contemptuously. 

"Of  course  I  mean  it !"  I  thundered  at  him. 

He  took  the  pipe  from  his  mouth,  pressed  the  tobacco 


THE  RETURN  OF  MARIAN  DEVEREUX    287 

viciously  into  the  bowl,  and  swore  steadily  in  Gaelic 
until  I  was  ready  to  choke  him. 

"Stop !"  I  bawled.  "Do  you  think  that's  helping  me  ? 
And  to  have  you  curse  in  your  blackguardly  Irish  dia 
lect!  I  wanted  a  little  Anglo-Saxon  sympathy,  you 
fool !  I  didn't  mean  for  you  to  invoke  your  infamous 
gods  against  the  girl !" 

"Don't  be  violent,  lad.  Violence  is  reprehensible," 
he  admonished  with  maddening  sweetness  and  patience. 
"What  I  was  trying  to  inculcate  was  rather  the  fact, 
borne  in  upon  me  through  years  of  acquaintance,  that 
you  are, — to  be  bold,  my  lad,  to  be  bold, — a  good  deal 
of  a  damned  fool." 

The  trilling  of  his  r's  was  like  the  whirring  rise  of 
a  flock  of  quails. 

"Dinner  is  served,"  announced  Bates,  and  Larry  led 
the  way,  mockingly  chanting  an  Irish  love-song. 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

THE  DOOR  OF  BEWILDERMENT 

We  had  established  the  practice  of  barring  all  the 
gates  and  doors  at  nightfall.  There  was  no  way  of 
guarding  against  an  attack  from  the  lake,  whose  frozen 
surface  increased  the  danger  from  without;  but  we 
counted  on  our  night  patrol  to  prevent  a  surprise  from 
that  quarter.  I  was  well  aware  that  I  must  prepare  to 
resist  the  militant  arm  of  the  law,  which  Pickering 
would  no  doubt  invoke  to  aid  him,  but  I  intended  to 
exhaust  the  possibilities  in  searching  for  the  lost  treas 
ure  before  I  yielded.  Pickering  might,  if  he  would, 
transfer  the  estate  of  John  Marshall  Glenarm  to  Marian 
Devereux  and  make  the  most  he  could  of  that  service, 
but  he  should  not  drive  me  forth  until  I  had  satisfied 
myself  of  the  exact  character  of  my  grandfather's  for 
tune.  If  it  had  vanished,  if  Pickering  had  stolen  it 
and  outwitted  me  in  making  off  with  it,  that  was  an 
other  matter. 

The  phrase,  "The  Door  of  Bewilderment,"  had  never 
ceased  to  reiterate  itself  in  my  mind.  We  discussed  a 

288 


THE    DOOR    OF   BEWILDERMENT       289 

thousand  explanations  of  it  as  we  pondered  over  the 
scrap  of  paper  I  had  found  in  the  library,  and  every 
book  in  the  house  was  examined  in  the  search  for  further 
clues. 

The  passage  between  the  house  and  the  chapel  seemed 
to  fascinate  Larry.  He  held  that  it  must  have  some 
particular  use  and  he  devoted  his  time  to  exploring  it. 

He  came  up  at  noon — it  was  the  twenty-ninth  of 
December — with  grimy  face  and  hands  and  a  grin  on  his 
face.  I  had  spent  my  morning  in  the  towers,  where  it 
was  beastly  cold,  to  no  purpose  and  was  not  in  a  mood 
for  the  ready  acceptance  of  new  theories. 

"I've  found  something,"  he  said,  filling  his  pipe. 

"Not  soap,  evidently !" 

"No,  but  I'm  going  to  say  the  last  word  on  the  tun 
nel,  and  within  an  hour.  Give  me  a  glass  of  beer  and  a 
piece  of  bread,  and  we'll  go  back  and  see  whether  we're 
sold  again  or  not." 

"Let  us  explore  the  idea  and  be  done  with  it.  Wait 
till  I  tell  Stoddard  where  we're  going." 

The  chaplain  was  trying  the  second-floor  walls,  and 
I  asked  him  to  eat  some  luncheon  and  stand  guard  while 
Larry  and  I  went  to  the  tunnel. 

We  took  with  us  an  iron  bar,  an  ax  and  a  couple  of 
hammers.  Larry  went  ahead  with  a  lantern. 

"You  see,"  he  explained,  as  we  dropped  through  the 


290  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

trap  into  the  passage,  "I've  tried  a  compass  on  this 
tunnel  and  find  that  we've  been  working  on  the  wrong 
theory.  The  passage  itself  runs  a  straight  line  from 
the  house  under  the  gate  to  the  crypt;  the  ravine  is  a 
rough  crescent-shape  and  for  a  short  distance  the  tunnel 
touches  it.  How  deep  does  that  ravine  average — about 
thirty  feet  ?" 

"Yes;  it's  shallowest  where  the  house  stands.  It 
drops  sharply  from  there  on  to  the  lake." 

"Very  good ;  but  the  ravine  is  all  on  the  Glenarm  side 
of  the  wall,  isn't  it  ?  Now  when  we  get  under  the  wall 
I'll  show  you  something." 

"Here  we  are,"  said  Larry,  as  the  cold  air  blew  in 
through  the  hollow  posts.  "Now  we're  pretty  near  that 
sharp  curve  of  the  ravine  that  dips  away  from  the  wall. 
Take  the  lantern  while  I  get  out  the  compass.  What 
do  you  think  that  C  on  the  piece  of  paper  means  ?  Why, 
chapel,  of  course.  I  have  measured  the  distance  from 
the  house,  the  point  of  departure,  we  may  assume,  to 
the  chapel,  and  three-fourths  of  it  brings  us  under  those 
beautiful  posts.  The  directions  are  as  plain  as  day 
light.  The  passage  itself  is  your  N.  W.,  as  the  compass 
proves,  and  the  ravine  cuts  close  in  here ;  therefore,  our 
business  is  to  explore  the  wall  on  the  ravine  side." 

"Good !  but  this  is  just  wall  here — earth  with  a  layer 
of  brick  and  a  thin  coat  of  cement.  A  nice  job  it  must 


have  been  to  do  the  work, — and  it  cost  the  price  of  a 
tiger  hunt,"  I  grumbled. 

"Take  heart,  lad,  and  listen," — and  Larry  began 
pounding  the  wall  with  a  hammer,  exactly  under  the 
north  gate-post.  We  had  sounded  everything  in  and 
about  the  house  until  the  process  bored  me. 

"Hurry  up  and  get  through  with  it,"  I  jerked  impa 
tiently,  holding  the  lantern  at  the  level  of  his  head.  It 
was  sharply  cold  under  the  posts  and  I  was  anxious  to 
prove  the  worthlessness  of  his  idea  and  be  done. 

Thump !  thump ! 

"There's  a  place  here  that  sounds  a  trifle  off  the  key. 
You  try  it." 

I  snatched  the  hammer  and  repeated  his  soundings. 

Thump !  thump ! 

There  was  a  space  about  four  feet  square  in  the  wall 
that  certainly  gave  forth  a  hollow  sound. 

"Stand  back !"  exclaimed  Larry  eagerly.  "Here  goes 
with  the  ax." 

He  struck  into  the  wall  sharply  and  the  cement 
chipped  off  in  rough  pieces,  disclosing  the  brick  be 
neath.  Larry  paused  when  he  had  uncovered  a  foot  of 
the  inner  layer,  and  examined  the  surface. 

"They're  loose — these  bricks  are  loose,  and  there's 
something  besides  earth  behind  them !" 

I  snatched  the  hammer  and  drove  hard  at  the  wall. 


293     THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CAXDLES 

The  bricks  were  set  up  without  mortar,  and  I  plucked 
them  out  and  rapped  with  my  knuckles  on  a  wooden 
surface. 

Even  Larry  grew  excited  as  we  flung  out  the  bricks. 

"Ah,  lad,"  he  said,  "the  old  gentleman  had  a  way 
with  him — he  had  a  way  with  him !"  A  brick  dropped 
on  his  foot  and  he  howled  in  pain. 

"Bless  the  old  gentleman's  heart !  He  made  it  as 
easy  for  us  as  he  could.  Xow,  for  the  Glenarm  millions, 
— red  money  all  piled  up  for  the  ease  of  counting  it, — 
a  thousand  pounds  in  every  pile." 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Larry,"  I  coughed  at  him,  for  the 
brick  dust  and  the  smoke  of  Larry's  pipe  made  breath 
ing  difficult. 

"That's  all  the  loose  brick, — bring  the  lantern  closer,'' 
— and  we  peered  through  the  aperture  upon  a  wooden 
door,  in  which  strips  of  iron  were  deep-set.  It  was  fas 
tened  with  a  padlock  and  Larry  reached  down  for  the  ax. 

"Wait !"  I  called,  drawing  closer  with  the  lantern. 
"What's  this?" 

The  wood  of  the  door  was  fresh  and  white,  but  burned 
deep  on  the  surface,  in  this  order,  were  the  words: 

THE   DOOR 

OF 
BEWILDERMENT 


THE   DOOR   OF   BEWILDERMENT       293 

"There  are  dead  men  inside,  I  dare  say!  Here,  my 
lad,  it's  not  for  me  to  turn  loose  the  family  skeletons/' 
— and  Larry  stood  aside  while  I  swung  the  ax  and 
brought  it  down  with  a  crash  on  the  padlock.  It  was 
of  no  flimsy  stuff  and  the  remaining  bricks  cramped  me, 
but  half  a  dozen  blows  broke  it  off. 

"The  house  of  a  thousand  ghosts,"  chanted  the  irre 
pressible  Larry,  as  I  pushed  the  door  open  and  crawled 
through. 

Whatever  the  place  was  it  had  a  floor  and  I  set  my 
feet  firmly  upon  it  and  turned  to  take  the  lantern. 

"Hold  a  bit,"  he  exclaimed.  "Some  one's  coming," 
— and  bending  toward  the  opening  I  heard  the  sound 
of  steps  down  the  corridor.  In  a  moment  Bates  ran  up, 
calling  my  name  with  more  spirit  than  I  imagined  pos 
sible  in  him. 

"What  is  it?"  I  demanded,  crawling  out  into  the 
tunnel. 

"It's  Mr.  Pickering.  The  sheriff  has  come  with  him, 
sir." 

As  he  spoke  his  glance  fell  upon  the  broken  wall  and 
open  door.  The  light  of  Larry's  lantern  struck  full 
upon  him.  Amazement,  and,  I  thought,  a  certain  satis 
faction,  were  marked  upon  his  countenance. 

"Run  along,  Jack, — I'll  be  up  a  little  later,"  said 
Larry.  "If  the  fellow  has  come  in  daylight  with  the 


294    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

sheriff,  he  isn't  dangerous.  It's  his  friends  that  shoot 
in  the  dark  that  give  us  the  trouble." 

I  crawled  out  and  stood  upright.  Bates,  staring  at 
the  opening,  seemed  reluctant  to  leave  the  spot. 

'Turn  seem  to  have  found  it,  sir,"  he  said, — I  thought 
a  little  chokingly.  His  interest  in  the  matter  nettled 
me;  for  my  first  business  was  to  go  above  for  an  inter^ 
view  with  the  executor,  and  the  value  of  our  discovery 
was  secondary. 

"Of  course  we  have  found  it !"  I  ejaculated,  brushing 
the  dust  from  my  clothes.  "Is  Mr.  Stoddard  in  the 
library  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,  sir ;  I  left  him  entertaining  the  gentlemen." 

"Their  visit  is  certainly  most  inopportune,"  said 
Larry.  "Give  them  my  compliments  and  tell  them  I'll 
be  up  as  soon  as  I've  articulated  the  bones  of  my  friend's 
ancestors." 

Bates  strode  on  ahead  of  me  with  his  lantern,  and  I 
left  Larry  crawling  through  the  new-found  door  as  I 
hurried  toward  the  house.  I  knew  him  well  enough  to 
be  sure  he  would  not  leave  the  spot  until  he  had  found 
what  lay  behind  the  Door  of  Bewilderment. 

"You  didn't  tell  the  callers  where  you  expected  to 
find  me,  did  you  ?"  I  asked  Bates,  as  he  brushed  me  off 
in  the  kitchen. 

"No,  sir.    Mr.  Stoddard  received  the  gentlemen.    He 


THE   DOOR   OF   BEWILDERMENT       295 

rang  the  bell  for  me  and  when  I  went  into  the  library 
he  was  saying,  'Mr.  Glenarm  is  at  his  studies.  Bates/ — 
he  says — 'kindly  tell  Mr.  Glenarm  that  I'm  sorry  to  in 
terrupt  him,  but  won't  he  please  come  down  ?'  I  thought 
it  rather  neat,  sir,  considering  his  clerical  office.  I 
knew  you  were  below  somewhere,  sir;  the  trap-door  was 
open  and  I  found  you  easily  enough/' 

Bates'  eyes  were  brighter  than  I  had  ever  seen  them. 
A  certain  buoyant  note  gave  an  entirely  new  tone  to 
his  voice.  He  walked  ahead  of  me  to  the  library  door, 
threw  it  open  and  stood  aside. 

"Here  you  are,  Glenarm,"  said  Stoddard.  Pickering 
and  a  stranger  stood  near  the  fireplace  in  their  over 
coats. 

Pickering  advanced  and  offered  his  hand,  but  I 
turned  away  from  him  without  taking  it.  His  compan 
ion,  a  burly  countryman,  stood  staring,  a  paper  in  his 
hand. 

"The  sheriff,"  Pickering  explained,  "and  our  business 
is  rather  personal — " 

He  glanced  at  Stoddard,  who  looked  at  me. 

"Mr.  Stoddard  will  do  me  the  kindness  to  remain," 
I  said  and  took  my  stand  beside  the  chaplain. 

"Oh !"  Pickering  ejaculated  scornfully.  "I  didn't 
understand  that  you  had  established  relations  with  the 
neighboring  clergy.  Your  taste  is  improving,  Glenarm." 


296     THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"Mr.  Glenarm  is  a  friend  of  mine/'  remarked  Stod- 
dard  quietly.  "A  very  particular  friend,"  he  added. 

"I  congratulate  you — both." 

I  laughed.  Pickering  was  surveying  the  room  as  he 
spoke, — and  Stoddard  suddenly  stepped  toward  him, 
merely,  I  think,  to  draw  up  a  chair  for  the  sheriff ;  but 
Pickering,  not  hearing  Stoddard's  step  on  the  soft  rug 
until  the  clergyman  was  close  beside  him,  started  per 
ceptibly  and  reddened. 

It  was  certainly  ludicrous,  and  when  Stoddard  faced 
me  again  he  was  biting  his  lip. 

"Pardon  me !"  he  murmured. 

"Kow,  gentlemen,  will  you  kindly  state  your  busi 
ness  ?  My  own  affairs  press  me." 

Pickering  was  studying  the  cartridge  boxes  on  the 
library  table.  The  sheriff,  too,  was  viewing  these  effects 
with  interest  not,  I  think,  unmixed  with  awe. 

"Glenarm,  I  don't  like  to  invoke  the  law  to  eject  you 
from  this  property,  but  I  am  left  with  no  alternative. 
I  can't  stay  out  here  indefinitely,  and  I  want  to  know 
what  I'm  to  expect." 

"That  is  a  fair  question,"  I  replied.  "If  it  were 
merely  a  matter  of  following  the  terms  of  the  will  I 
should  not  hesitate  or  be  here  now.  But  it  isn't  the  will, 
or  my  grandfather,  that  keeps  me,  it's  the  determina 
tion  to  give  you  all  the  annoyance  possible, — to  make  it 


THE   DOOR   OF   BEWILDERMENT       297 

hard  and  mighty  hard  for  you  to  get  hold  of  this  house 
until  I  have  found  why  you  are  so  much  interested 
in  it." 

"You  always  had  a  grand  way  in  money  matters.  As 
I  told  you  before  you  came  out  here,  it's  a  poor  stake. 
The  assets  consist  wholly  of  this  land  and  this  house, 
whose  quality  you  have  had  an  excellent  opportunity 
to  test.  You  have  doubtless  heard  that  the  country 
people  believe  there  is  money  concealed  here, — but  I 
dare  say  you  have  exhausted  the  possibilities.  This  is 
not  the  first  time  a  rich  man  has  died  leaving  precious 
little  behind  him." 

"You  seem  very  anxious  to  get  possession  of  a  prop 
erty  that  you  call  a  poor  stake,"  I  said.  "A  few  acres 
of  land,  a  half-finished  house  and  an  uncertain  claim 
upon  a  school-teacher !" 

"I  had  no  idea  you  would  understand  it,"  he  replied. 
"The  fact  that  a  man  may  be  under  oath  to  perform 
the  solemn  duties  imposed  upon  him  by  the  law  would 
hardly  appeal  to  you.  But  I  haven't  come  here  to  debate 
this  question.  When  are  you  going  to  leave?" 

"Not  till  I'm  ready,— thanks !" 

"Mr.  Sheriff,  will  you  serve  your  writ?"  he  said,  and 
I  looked  to  Stoddard  for  any  hint  from  him  as  to  what 
I  should  do. 

"I  believe  Mr.  Glenarm  is  quite  willing  to  hear  what- 


298    THE  HOUSE  OP  A  THOUSAND  CAXDLES 

ever  the  sheriff  has  to  say  to  him/'  said  Stoddard.  He 
stepped  nearer  to  me,  as  though  to  emphasize  the  fact 
that  he  belonged  to  my  side  of  the  controversy,  and  the 
sheriff  read  an  order  of  the  Wabana  County  Circuit 
Court  directing  me,  immediately,  to  deliver  the  house 
and  grounds  into  the  keeping  of  the  executor  of  the 
will  of  the  estate  of  John  Marshall  Glenarm. 

The  sheriff  rather  enjoyed  holding  the  center  of  the 
stage,  and  I  listened  quietly  to  the  unfamiliar  phrase 
ology.  Before  he  had  quite  finished  I  heard  a  step  in 
the  hall  and  Larry  appeared  at  the  door,  pipe  in  mouth. 
Pickering  turned  toward  him  frowning,  but  Larry  paid 
not  the  slightest  attention  to  the  executor,  leaning 
against  the  door  with  his  usual  tranquil  unconcern. 

"I  advise  you  not  to  trifle  with  the  law,  Glenarm," 
said  Pickering  angrily.  "You  have  absolutely  no  right 
whatever  to  be  here.  And  these  other  gentlemen — your 
guests,  I  suppose — are  equally  trespassers  under  the 
law." 

He  stared  at  Larry,  who  crossed  his  legs  for  greater 
ease  in  adjusting  his  lean  frame  to  the  door. 

<rWell,  Mr.  Pickering,  what  is  the  next  step?"  asked 
the  sheriff,  with  an  importance  that  had  been  increased 
by  the  legal  phrases  he  had  been  reading. 

"Mr.  Pickering,"  said  Larry,  straightening  up  and 
taking  the  pipe  from  his  mouth,  "I'm  Mr.  Glenarm's 


THE   DOOR   OF   BEWILDERMENT       299 

counsel.  If  you  will  do  me  the  kindness  to  ask  the 
sheriff  to  retire  for  a  moment  I  should  like  to  say  a 
few  words  to  you  that  you  might  prefer  to  keep  between 
ourselves." 

I  had  usually  found  it  wise  to  take  any  cue  Larry 
threw  me,  and  I  said: 

"Pickering,  this  is  Mr.  Donovan,  who  has  every  au 
thority  to  act  for  me  in  the  matter." 

Pickering  looked  impatiently  from  one  to  the  other 
of  us. 

"You  seem  to  have  the  guns,  the  ammunition  and  the 
numbers  on  your  side,"  he  observed  dryly. 

"The  sheriff  may  wait  within  call,"  said  Larry,  and 
at  a  word  from  Pickering  the  man  left  the  room. 

"Now,  Mr.  Pickering," — Larry  spoke  slowly, — "as 
my  friend  has  explained  the  case  to  me,  the  assets  of 
his  grandfather's  estate  are  all  accounted  for, — the  land 
hereabouts,  this  house,  the  ten  thousand  dollars  in  se 
curities  and  a  somewhat  vague  claim  against  a  lady 
known  as  Sister  Theresa,  who  conducts  St.  Agatha's 
School.  Is  that  correct  ?" 

"I  don't  ask  you  to  take  my  word  for  it,  sir,"  rejoined 
Pickering  hotly.  "I  have  filed  an  inventory  of  the 
estate,  so  far  as  found,  with  the  proper  authorities." 

"Certainly.  But  I  merely  wish  to  be  sure  of  my  facts 
for  the  purpose  of  this  interview,  to  save  me  the  trouble 


300     THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

of  going  to  the  records.  And,  moreover,  I  am  somewhat 
unfamiliar  with  your  procedure  in  this  country.  I  am 
a  member,  sir,  of  the  Irish  Bar.  Pardon  me,  but  I  re 
peat  my  question." 

"I  have  made  oath — that,  I  trust,  is  sufficient  even 
for  a  member  of  the  Irish  Bar." 

"Quite  so,  Mr.  Pickering,"  said  Larry,  nodding  his 
head  gravely. 

He  was  not,  to  be  sure,  a  presentable  member  of  any 
bar,  for  a  smudge  detracted  considerably  from  the  ap 
pearance  of  one  side  of  his  face,  his  clothes  were  rum 
pled  and  covered  with  black  dust,  and  his  hands  were 
black.  But  I  had  rarely  seen  him  so  calm.  He  recrossed 
his  legs,  peered  into  the  bowl  of  his  pipe  for  a  moment, 
then  asked,  as  quietly  as  though  he  were  soliciting  an 
opinion  of  the  weather : 

"Will  you  tell  me,  Mr.  Pickering,  whether  you  your 
self  are  a  debtor  of  John  Marshall  Glenarm's  estate  ?" 

Pickering's  face  grew  white  and  his  eyes  stared,  and 
when  he  tried  suddenly  to  speak  his  jaw  twitched.  The 
room  was  so  still  that  the  breaking  of  a  blazing  log  on 
the  andirons  was  a  pleasant  relief.  We  stood,  the  three 
of  us,  with  our  eyes  on  Pickering,  and  in  my  own  case 
I  must  say  that  my  heart  was  pounding  my  ribs  at  an 
uncomfortable  speed,  for  I  knew  Larry  was  not  sparring 
for  time. 


THE   DOOR   OF   BEWILDERMENT       301 

The  blood  rushed  into  Pickering's  face  and  he  turned 
toward  Larry  stormily. 

"This  is  unwarrantable  and  infamous !  My  relations 
with  Mr.  Glenarm  are  none  of  your  business.  When 
you  remember  that  after  being  deserted  by  his  own  flesh 
and  blood  he  appealed  to  me,  going  so  far  as  to  intrust 
all  his  affairs  to  my  care  at  his  death,  your  reflection 
is  an  outrageous  insult.  I  am  not  accountable  to  you 
or  any  one  else !" 

"Really,  there's  a  good  deal  in  all  that,"  said  Larry. 
"We  don't  pretend  to  any  judicial  functions.  We  are 
perfectly  willing  to  submit  the  whole  business  and  all 
my  client's  acts  to  the  authorities." 

(I  would  give  much  if  I  could  reproduce  some  hint 
of  the  beauty  of  that  word  authorities  as  it  rolled  from 
Larry's  tongue !) 

"Then,  in  God's  name,  do  it,  you  blackguards!" 
roared  Pickering. 

Stoddard,  sitting  on  a  table,  knocked  his  heels  to 
gether  gently.  Larry  recrossed  his  legs  and  blew  a 
cloud  of  smoke.  Then,  after  a  quarter  of  a  minute  in 
which  he  gazed  at  the  ceiling  with  his  quiet  blue  eyes, 
he  said : 

"Yes ;  certainly,  there  are  always  the  authorities.  And 
as  I  have  a  tremendous  respect  for  your  American  in 
stitutions  I  shall  at  once  act  on  your  suggestion.  Mr. 


302    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

Pickering,  the  estate  is  richer  than  you  thought  it  was. 
It  holds,  or  will  hold,  your  notes  given  to  the  decedent 
for  three  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  dollars." 

He  drew  from  his  pocket  a  brown  envelope,  walked 
to  where  I  stood  and  placed  it  in  my  hands. 

At  the  same  time  Stoddard's  big  figure  grew  active, 
and  before  I  realized  that  Pickering  had  leaped  toward 
the  packet,  the  executor  was  sitting  in  a  chair,  where  the 
chaplain  had  thrown  him.  He  rallied  promptly,  stuffing 
his  necktie  into  his  waistcoat ;  he  even  laughed  a  little. 

"So  much  old  paper!  You  gentlemen  are  perfectly 
welcome  to  it/' 

"Thank  you!"  jerked  Larry. 

"Mr.  Glenarm  and  I  had  many  transactions  together, 
and  he  must  have  forgotten  to  destroy  those  papers." 

"Quite  likely,"  I  remarked.  "It  is  interesting  to 
know  that  Sister  Theresa  wasn't  his  only  debtor." 

Pickering  stepped  to  the  door  and  called  the  sheriff. 

"I  shall  give  you  until  to-morrow  morning  at  nine 
o'clock  to  vacate  the  premises.  The  court  understands 
this  situation  perfectly.  These  claims  are  utterly  worth 
less,  as  I  am  ready  to  prove." 

"Perfectly,  perfectly,"  repeated  the  sheriff. 

"I  believe  that  is  all,"  said  Larry,  pointing  to  the 
door  with  his  pipe. 


THE    DOOR    OF   BEWILDERMENT       303 

The  sheriff  was  regarding  him  with  particular  atten 
tion. 

"What  did  I  understand  your  name  to  be?"  he  de 
manded. 

"Laurance  Donovan,"  Larry  replied  coolly. 

Pickering  seemed  to  notice  the  name  now  and  his  eyes 
lighted  disagreeably. 

"I  think  I  have  heard  of  your  friend  before,"  he  said, 
turning  to  me.  "I  congratulate  you  on  the  international 
reputation  of  your  counsel.  He's  esteemed  so  highly  in 
Ireland  that  they  offer  a  large  reward  for  his  return. 
Sheriff,  I  think  we  have  finished  our  business  for 
to-day." 

He  seemed  anxious  to  get  the  man  away,  and  we  gave 
them  escort  to  the  outer  gate  where  a  horse  and  buggy 
were  waiting. 

"Now,  I'm  in  for  it,"  said  Larry,  as  I  locked  the  gate. 
"We've  spiked  one  of  his  guns,  but  I've  given  him  a  new 
one  to  use  against  myself.  But  come,  and  I  will  show 
you  the  Door  of  Bewilderment  before  I  skip." 


CHAPTEE   XXIV 

A  PROWLER  OF  THE  NIGHT 

Down  we  plunged  into  the  cellar,  through  the  trap 
and  to  the  Door  of  Bewilderment. 

"Don't  expect  too  much,"  admonished  Larry;  "I 
can't  promise  you  a  single  Spanish  coin." 

"Perish  the  ambition !  We  have  blocked  Pickering's 
game,  and  nothing  else  matters,"  I  said. 

We  crawled  through  the  hole  in  the  wall  and  lighted 
candles.  The  room  was  about  seven  feet  square.  At 
the  farther  end  was  an  oblong  wooden  door,  close  to  the 
ceiling,  and  Larry  tugged  at  the  fastening  until  it  came 
down,  bringing  with  it  a  mass  of  snow  and  leaves. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "we  are  at  the  edge  of  the 
ravine.  Do  you  see  the  blue  sky?  And  yonder,  if  you 
will  twist  your  necks  a  bit,  is  the  boat-house." 

"Well,  let  the  scenic  effects  go  and  show  us  where 
you  found  those  papers,"  I  urged. 

"Speaking  of  mysteries,  that  is  where  I  throw  up  my 
hands,  lads.  It's  quickly  told.  Here  is  a  table,  and  here 
is  a  tin  despatch  box,  which  lies  just  where  I  found  it. 

304 


A   PROWLEE   OF   THE   NIGHT          305 

It  was  closed  and  the  key  was  in  the  lock.  I  took  out 
that  packet — it  wasn't  even  sealed — saw  the  character 
of  the  contents,  and  couldn't  resist  the  temptation  to 
try  the  effect  of  an  announcement  of  its  discovery  on 
your  friend  Pickering.  Now  that  is  nearly  all.  I  found 
this  piece  of  paper  under  the  tape  with  which  the  en 
velope  was  tied,  and  I  don't  hesitate  to  say  that  when 
I  read  it  I  laughed  until  I  thought  I  should  shake 
down  the  cellar.  Eead  it,  John  Glenarm !" 

He  handed  me  a  sheet  of  legal-cap  paper  on  which 
was  written  these  words: 

HE  LAUGHS  BEST  WHO  LAUGHS  LAST 

"What  do  you  think  is  so  funny  in  this  ?"  I  demanded. 

"Who  wrote  it,  do  you  think  ?"  asked  Stoddard. 

"Who  wrote  it,  do  you  ask?  Why,  your  grandfather 
wrote  it !  John  Marshall  Glenarm,  the  cleverest,  grand 
est  old  man  that  ever  lived,  wrote  it !"  declaimed  Larry, 
his  voice  booming  loudly  in  the  room.  "It's  all  a  great 
big  game,  fixed  up  to  try  you  and  Pickering, — but  prin 
cipally  you,  you  blockhead!  Oh,  it's  grand,  perfectly, 
deliciously  grand, — and  to  think  it  should  be  my  good 
luck  to  share  in  it !" 

"Humph!  I'm  glad  you're  amused,  but  it  doesn't 
strike  me  as  being  so  awfully  funny.  Suppose  those 


306     THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

papers  had  fallen  into  Pickering's  hands;  then  where 
would  the  joke  have  been,  I  should  like  to  know !" 

"On  you,  my  lad,  to  be  sure!  The  old  gentleman 
wanted  you  to  study  architecture;  he  wanted  you  to 
study  his  house;  he  even  left  a  little  pointer  in  an  old 
book !  Oh,  it's  too  good  to  be  true !" 

"That's  all  clear  enough,"  observed  Stoddard,  knock 
ing  upon  the  despatch  box  with  his  knuckles.  "But  why 
do  you  suppose  he  dug  this  hole  here  with  its  outlet  on 
the  ravine  ?" 

"Oh,  it  was  the  way  of  him !"  explained  Larry.  "He 
liked  the  idea  of  queer  corners  and  underground  pas 
sages.  This  is  a  bully  hiding-place  for  man  or  treasure, 
and  that  outlet  into  the  ravine  makes  it  possible  to  get 
out  of  the  house  with  nobody  the  wiser.  It's  in  keeping 
with  the  rest  of  his  scheme.  Be  gay,  comrades !  To 
morrow  will  likely  find  us  with  plenty  of  business  on 
our  hands.  At  present  we  hold  the  fort,  and  let  us  have 
a  care  lest  we  lose  it." 

We  closed  the  ravine  door,  restored  the  brick  as  best 
we  could,  and  returned  to  the  library.  We  made  a  list 
of  the  Pickering  notes  and  spent  an  hour  discussing  this 
new  feature  of  the  situation. 

"That's  a  large  amount  of  money  to  lend  one  man," 
said  Stoddard. 

"True;  and  from  that  we  may  argue  that  Mr.  Glen- 


307 

arm  didn't  give  Pickering  all  he  had.  There's  more 
somewhere.  If  only  I  didn't  have  to  run — "  and  Larry's 
face  fell  as  he  remembered  his  own  plight. 

"I'm  a  selfish  pig,  old  man !  I've  been  thinking  only 
of  my  own  affairs.  But  I  never  relied  on  you  as  much 
as  now !" 

"Those  fellows  will  sound  the  alarm  against  Dono 
van,  without  a  doubt,  on  general  principles  and  to  land 
a  blow  on  you,"  remarked  Stoddard  thoughtfully. 

"But  you  can  get  away,  Larry.  We'll  help  you  off 
to-night.  I  don't  intend  to  stand  between  you  and  lib 
erty.  This  extradition  business  is  no  joke, — if  they 
ever  get  you  back  in  Ireland  it  will  be  no  fun  getting 
you  off.  You'd  better  run  for  it  before  Pickering  and 
his  sheriff  spring  their  trap." 

"Yes;  that's  the  wise  course.  Glenarm  and  I  can 
hold  the  fort  here.  His  is  a  moral  issue,  really,  and  I'm 
in  for  a  siege  of  a  thousand  years,"  said  the  clergyman 
earnestly,  "if  it's  necessary  to  beat  Pickering.  I  may 
go  to  jail  in  the  end,  too,  I  suppose." 

"I  want  you  both  to  leave.  It's  unfair  to  mix  you 
up  in  this  ugly  business  of  mine.  Your  stake's  bigger 
than  mine,  Larry.  And  yours,  too,  Stoddard ;  why,  your 
whole  future — your  professional  standing  and  prospects 
would  be  ruined  if  we  got  into  a  fight  here  with  the  au 
thorities." 


308    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"Thank  you  for  mentioning  my  prospects!  I've 
never  had  them  referred  to  before,"  laughed  Stoddard. 
"No ;  your  grandfather  was  a  friend  of  the  Church  and 
I  can't  desert  his  memory.  I'm  a  believer  in  a  vigorous 
Church  militant  and  I'm  enlisted  for  the  whole  war. 
But  Donovan  ought  to  go,  if  he  will  allow  me  to  advise 
him." 

Larry  filled  his  pipe  at  the  fireplace. 

"Lads,"  he  said,  his  hands  behind  him,  rocking  gently 
as  was  his  way,  "let  us  talk  of  art  and  letters, — I'm  go 
ing  to  stay.  It  hasn't  often  happened  in  my  life  that 
the  whole  setting  of  the  stage  has  pleased  me  as  much 
as  this.  Lost  treasure;  secret  passages;  a  gentleman 
rogue  storming  the  citadel;  a  private  chaplain  on  the 
premises ;  a  young  squire  followed  by  a  limelight ;  sher 
iff,  school-girls  and  a  Sisterhood  distributed  through 
the  landscape, — and  me,  with  Scotland  Yard  looming 
duskily  in  the  distance.  Glenarm,  I'm  going  to  stay." 

There  was  no  shaking  him,  and  the  spirits  of  all  of 
us  rose  after  this  new  pledge  of  loyalty.  Stoddard 
stayed  for  dinner,  and  afterward  we  began  again  our 
eternal  quest  for  the  treasure,  our  hopes  high  from 
Larry's  lucky  strike  of  the  afternoon,  and  with  a  new 
eagerness  born  of  the  knowledge  that  the  morrow  would 
certainly  bring  us  face  to  face  with  the  real  crisis.  We 


rA   PROWLER   OF   THE   NIGHT 

ranged  the  house  from  tower  to  cellar;  we  overhauled 
the  tunnel,  for,  it  seemed  to  me,  the  hundredth  time. 

It  was  my  watch,  and  at  midnight,  after  Stoddard  and 
Larry  had  reconnoitered  the  grounds  and  Bates  and  I 
had  made  sure  of  all  the  interior  fastenings,  I  sent 
them  off  to  hed  and  made  myself  comfortable  with  a 
pipe  in  the  library. 

I  was  glad  of  the  respite,  glad  to  be  alone, — to  con 
sider  my  talk  with  Marian  Devereux  at  St.  Agatha's, 
and  her  return  with  Pickering.  Why  could  she  not  al 
ways  have  been  Olivia,  roaming  the  woodland,  or  the 
girl  in  gray,  or  that  woman,  so  sweet  in  her  dignity, 
who  came  down  the  stairs  at  the  Armstrongs'?  Her 
own  attitude  toward  me  was  so  full  of  contradictions; 
she  had  appeared  to  me  in  so  many  moods  and  guises, 
that  my  spirit  ranged  the  whole  gamut  of  feeling  as  I 
thought  of  her.  But  it  was  the  recollection  of  Picker 
ing's  infamous  conduct  that  colored  all  my  doubts  of 
her.  Pickering  had  always  been  in  my  way,  and  here, 
but  for  the  chance  by  which  Larry  had  found  the  notes, 
I  should  have  had  no  weapon  to  use  against  him. 

The  wind  rose  and  drove  shrilly  around  the  house. 
A  bit  of  scaffolding  on  the  outer  walls  rattled  loose 
somewhere  and  crashed  down  on  the  terrace.  I  grew 
restless,  my  mind  intent  upon  the  many  chances  of  the 


310  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CAXDLES 

morrow,  and  running  forward  to  the  future.  Even  if 
I  won  in  my  strife  with  Pickering  I  had  yet  my  way 
to  make  in  the  world.  His  notes  were  probably  worth 
less, — I  did  not  doubt  that.  I  might  use  them  to  pro 
cure  his  removal  as  executor,  but  I  did  not  look  forward 
with  any  pleasure  to  a  legal  fight  over  a  property  that 
had  brought  me  only  trouble. 

Something  impelled  me  to  go  below,  and,  taking  a 
lantern,  I  tramped  somberly  through  the  cellar,  glanced 
at  the  heating  apparatus,  and,  remembering  that  the 
chapel  entrance  to  the  tunnel  was  unguarded,  followed 
the  corridor  to  the  trap,  and  opened  it.  The  cold  air 
blew  up  sharply  and  I  thrust  my  head  down  to  listen. 

A  sound  at  once  arrested  me.  I  thought  at  first  it 
must  be  the  suction  of  the  air,  but  Glenarm  House  was 
no  place  for  conjectures,  and  I  put  the  lantern  aside  and 
jumped  down  into  the  tunnel.  A  gleam  of  light  showed 
for  an  instant,  then  the  darkness  and  silence  were  com 
plete. 

I  ran  rapidly  over  the  smooth  floor,  which  I  had  trav 
ersed  so  often  that  I  knew  its  every  line.  My  only 
weapon  was  one  of  Stoddard's  clubs.  Near  the  Door 
of  Bewilderment  I  paused  and  listened.  The  tunnel 
was  perfectly  quiet.  I  took  a  step  forward  and  stum 
bled  over  a  brick,  fumbled  on  the  wall  for  the  opening 
which  we  had  closed  carefully  that  afternoon,  and  at 


A   PEOWLER   OF   THE    NIGHT          311 

the  instant  I  found  it  a  lantern  flashed  blindingly  in 
my  face  and  I  drew  back,  crouching  involuntarily,  and 
clenching  the  club  ready  to  strike. 

"Good  evening,  Mr.  Glenarm !" 

Marian  Devereux's  voice  broke  the  silence,  and  Ma 
rian  Devereux's  face,  with  the  full  light  of  the  lantern 
upon  it,  was  bent  gravely  upon  me.  Her  voice,  as  I 
heard  it  there, — her  face,  as  I  saw  it  there, — are  the 
things  that  I  shall  remember  last  when  my  hour  comes 
to  go  hence  from  this  world.  The  slim  fingers,  as  they 
clasped  the  wire  screen  of  the  lantern,  held  my  gaze  for 
a  second.  The  red  tam-o'-shanter  that  I  had  associated 
with  her  youth  and  beauty  was  tilted  rakishly  on  one 
side  of  her  pretty  head.  To  find  her  here,  seeking,  like 
a  thief  in  the  night,  for  some  means  of  helping  Arthur 
Pickering,  was  the  bitterest  drop  in  the  cup.  I  felt  as 
though  I  had  been  struck  with  a  bludgeon. 

"I  beg  your  pardon !"  she  said,  and  laughed.  "There 
doesn't  seem  to  be  anything  to  say,  does  there?  Well, 
we  do  certainly  meet  under  the  most  unusual,  not  to  say 
unconventional,  circumstances,  Squire  Glenarm.  Please 
go  away  or  turn  your  back.  I  want  to  get  out  of  this 
donjon  keep." 

She  took  my  hand  coolly  enough  and  stepped  down 
into  the  passage.  Then  I  broke  upon  her  stormily. 

"You  don't  seem  to  understand  the  gravity  of  what 


312    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

you  are  doing!  Don't  you  know  that  you  are  risking 
your  life  in  crawling  through  this  house  at  midnight? 
— that  even  to  serve  Arthur  Pickering,  a  life  is  a  pretty 
big  thing  to  throw  away?  Your  infatuation  for  that 
blackguard  seems  to  carry  you  far,  Miss  Devereux." 

She  swung  the  lantern  at  arm's  length  back  and  forth 
so  that  its  rays  at  every  forward  motion  struck  my  face 
like  a  blow. 

"It  isn't  exactly  pleasant  in  this  cavern.  Unless  you 
wish  to  turn  me  over  to  the  lord  high  executioner,  I  will 
bid  you  good  night." 

"But  the  infamy  of  this — of  coming  in  here  to  spy 
upon  me — to  help  my  enemy — the  man  who  is  seeking 
plunder — doesn't  seem  to  trouble  you." 

"No,  not  a  particle!"  she  replied  quietly,  and  then, 
with  an  impudent  fling,  "Oh,  no !"  She  held  up  the  lan 
tern  to  look  at  the  wick.  "I'm  really  disappointed  to 
find  that  you  were  a  little  ahead  of  me,  Squire  Glenarm. 
I  didn't  give  you  credit  for  so  much — perseverance. 
But  if  you  have  the  notes — 

"The  notes !  He  told  you  there  were  notes,  did  he  ? 
The  coward  sent  you  here  to  find  them,  after  his  other 
tools  failed  him  ?" 

She  laughed  that  low  laugh  of  hers  that  was  like  the 
bubble  of  a  spring. 


-,.          . 

-Cm.     • 


"I  beg  your  pardon!"  she  said,  and  laughed.        Page  J II 


A   PEOWLEE   OF   THE    NIGHT          313 

"Of  course  no  one  would  dare  deny  what  the  great 
Squire  Glenarm  says/'  she  said  witheringly. 

"You  can't  know  what  your  perfidy  means  to  me/'  I 
said.  "That  night,  at  the  Armstrongs',  I  thrilled  at 
the  sight  of  you.  As  you  came  down  the  stairway  I 
thought  of  you  as  my  good  angel,  and  I  belonged  to  you, 
— all  my  life,  the  better  future  that  I  wished  to  make 
for  your  sake." 

"Please  don't!"  And  I  felt  that  my  words  had 
touched  her;  that  there  were  regret  and  repentance  in 
her  tone  and  in  the  gesture  with  which  she  turned  from 
me. 

She  hurried  down  the  passage  swinging  the  lantern 
at  her  side,  and  I  followed,  so  mystified,  so  angered  by 
her  composure,  that  I  scarcely  knew  what  I  did.  She 
even  turned,  with  pretty  courtesy,  to  hold  the  light  for 
me  at  the  crypt  steps, — a  service  that  I  accepted  per 
force  and  with  joyless  acquiescence  in  the  irony  of  it. 
I  knew  that  I  did  not  believe  in  her;  her  conduct  as  to 
Pickering  was  utterly  indefensible, — I  could  not  forget 
that;  but  the  light  of  her  eyes,  her  tranquil  brow,  the 
sensitive  lips,  whose  mockery  stung  and  pleased  in  a 
breath, — by  such  testimony  my  doubts  were  alternately 
reinforced  and  disarmed.  Swept  by  these  changing 
moods  I  followed  her  out  into  the  crypt. 


314  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"You  seem  to  know  a  good  deal  about  this  place,  and 
I  suppose  I  can't  object  to  your  familiarizing  yourself 
with  your  own  property.  And  the  notes — I'll  give  my 
self  the  pleasure  of  handing  them  to  you  to-morrow. 
You  can  cancel  them  and  give  them  to  Mr.  Pickering, — 
a  pretty  pledge  between  you !" 

I  thrust  my  hands  into  my  pockets  to  give  an  impres 
sion  of  ease  I  did  not  feel. 

"Yes"  she  remarked  in  a  practical  tone,  "three  hun 
dred  and  twenty  thousand  dollars  is  no  mean  sum  of 
money.  Mr.  Pickering  will  undoubtedly  be  delighted 
to  have  his  debts  canceled — " 

"In  exchange  for  a  life  of  devotion,"  I  sneered.  "So 
you  knew  the  sum — the  exact  amount  of  these  notes. 
He  hasn't  served  you  well ;  he  should  have  told  you  that 
we  found  them  to-day." 

efYou  are  not  nice,  are  you,  Squire  Glenann,  when  you 
are  cross  ?" 

She  was  like  Olivia  now.  I  felt  the  utter  futility  of 
attempting  to  reason  with  a  woman  who  could  become 
a  child  at  will.  She  walked  up  the  steps  and  out  into 
the  church  vestibule.  Then  before  the  outer  door  she 
spoke  with  decision. 

"We  part  here,  if  you  please !  And — I  have  not  the 
slightest  intention  of  trying  to  explain  my  errand  into 
that  passage.  You  have  jumped  to  your  own  conclu- 


A    PROWLER   OF   THE   NIGHT          315 

sion,  which  will  have  to  serve  you.  I  advise  you  not 
to  think  very  much  about  it, — to  the  exclusion  of  more 
important  business,— Squire  Glenarm !" 

She  lifted  the  lantern  to  turn  out  its  light,  and  it 
made  a  glory  of  her  face,  but  she  paused  and  held  it 
toward  me. 

"Pardon  me !    You  will  need  this  to  light  you  home." 
"But  you  must  not  cross  the  park  alone !" 
"Good  night !    Please  be  sure  to  close  the  door  to  the 
passage  when  you  go  down.    You  are  a  dreadfully  heed 
less  person,  Squire  Glenarm." 

She  flung  open  the  outer  chapel-door,  and  ran  along 
the  path  toward  St.  Agatha's.  I  watched  her  in  the 
starlight  until  a  bend  in  the  path  hid  her  swift-moving 
figure. 

Down  through  the  passage  I  hastened,  her  lantern 
lighting  my  way.  At  the  Door  of  Bewilderment  I  closed 
the  opening,  setting  up  the  line  of  wall  as  we  had  left 
it  in  the  afternoon,  and  then  I  went  back  to  the  library, 
freshened  the  fire  and  brooded  before  it  until  Bates  came 
to  relieve  me  at  dawn. 


CHAPTEE  XXV 

BESIEGED 

It  was  nine  o'clock.  A  thermometer  on  the  terrace 
showed  the  mercury  clinging  stubbornly  to  a  point  above 
zero;  but  the  still  air  was  keen  and  stimulating,  and 
the  sun  argued  for  good  cheer  in  a  cloudless  sky.  We 
had  swallowed  some  breakfast,  though  I  believe  no  one 
had  manifested  an  appetite,  and  we  were  cheering  our 
selves  with  the  idlest  talk  possible.  Stoddard,  who  had 
been  to  the  chapel  for  his  usual  seven  o'clock  service,  was 
deep  in  the  pocket  Greek  testament  he  always  carried. 

Bates  ran  in  to  report  a  summons  at  the  outer  wall, 
and  Larry  and  I  went  together  to  answer  it,  sending 
Bates  to  keep  watch  toward  the  lake. 

Our  friend  the  sheriff,  with  a  deputy,  was  outside 
in  a  buggy.  He  stood  up  and  talked  to  us  over  the  wall. 

"You  gents  understand  that  I'm  only  doing  my  duty. 
It's  an  unpleasant  business,  but  the  court  orders  me  to 
eject  all  trespassers  on  the  premises,  and  I've  got  to 
do  it." 

"The  law  is  being  used  by  an  infamous  scoundrel  to 
316 


BESIEGED  317 

protect  himself.  I  don't  intend  to  give  in.  We  can 
hold  out  here  for  three  months,  if  necessary,  and  I  ad 
vise  you  to  keep  away  and  not  be  made  a  tool  for  a  man 
like  Pickering." 

The  sheriff  listened  respectfully,  resting  his  arms  on 
top  of  the  wall. 

"You  ought  to  understand,  Mr.  Glenarm,  that  I  ain't 
the  court;  I'm  the  sheriff,  and  it's  not  for  me  to  pass 
on  these  questions.  I've  got  my  orders  and  I've  got  to 
enforce  'em,  and  I  hope  you  will  not  make  it  necessary 
for  me  to  use  violence.  The  judge  said  to  me,  'We  de 
plore  violence  in  such  cases.'  Those  were  his  Honor's 
very  words." 

"Tou  may  give  his  Honor  my  compliments  and  tell 
him  that  we  are  sorry  not  to  see  things  his  way,  but 
there  are  points  involved  in  this  business  that  he  doesn't 
know  anything  about,  and  we,  unfortunately,  have  no 
time  to  lay  them  before  him." 

The  sheriff's  seeming  satisfaction  with  his  position 
on  the  wall  and  his  disposition  to  parley  had  begun  to 
arouse  my  suspicions,  and  Larry  several  times  ex 
claimed  impatiently  at  the  absurdity  of  discussing  my 
affairs  with  a  person  whom  he  insisted  on  calling  a  con 
stable,  to  the  sheriff's  evident  annoyance.  The  officer 
now  turned  upon  him. 


318    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CAXDLES 

"You,  sir, — we've  got  our  eye  on  you,  and  you'd  bet 
ter  come  along  peaceable.  Laurance  Donovan — the  de 
scription  fits  you  to  a  (i\" 

"You  could  buy  a  nice  farm  with  that  reward, 
couldn't  you — "  began  Larry,  but  at  that  moment  Bates 
ran  toward  us  calling  loudly. 

"They're  coming  across  the  lake,  sir,"  he  reported, 
and  instantly  the  sheriff's  head  disappeared,  and  as  we 
ran  toward  the  house  we  heard  his  horse  pounding  down 
the  road  toward  St.  Agatha's. 

"The  law  be  damned.  They  don't  intend  to  come  in 
here  by  the  front  door  as  a  matter  of  law,"  said  Larry. 
"Pickering's  merely  using  the  sheriff  to  give  respecta 
bility  to  his  manceuvers  for  those  notes  and  the  rest 
of  it." 

It  was  no  time  for  a  discussion  of  motives.  We  ran 
across  the  meadow  past  the  water  tower  and  through  the 
wood  down  to  the  boat-house.  Far  out  on  the  lake  we 
saw  half  a  dozen  men  approaching  the  Glenarm  grounds. 
They  advanced  steadily  over  the  light  snow  that  lay  upon 
the  ice,  one  man  slightly  in  advance  and  evidently  the 
leader. 

"It's  Morgan!"  exclaimed  Bates.  "And  there's  Fer 
guson." 

Larry  chuckled  and  slapped  his  thigh. 

"Observe  that  stocky  little  devil  just  behind  the  lead- 


BESIEGED  319 

er?  He's  my  friend  from  Scotland  Yard.  Lads!  this 
is  really  an  international  affair." 

"Bates,  go  back  to  the  house  and  call  at  any  sign  of 
attack/'  I  ordered.  "The  sheriff's  loose  somewhere." 

"And  Pickering  is  directing  his  forces  from  afar," 
remarked  Stoddard. 

"I  count  ten  men  in  Morgan's  line,"  said  Larry,  "and 
the  sheriff  and  his  deputy  make  two  more.  That's 
twelve,  not  counting  Pickering,  that  we  know  of  on  the 
other  side." 

"Warn  them  away  before  they  get  much  nearer,"  sug 
gested  Stoddard.  "We  don't  want  to  hurt  people  if 
we  can  help  it," — and  at  this  I  went  to  the  end  of  the 
pier.  Morgan  and  his  men  were  now  quite  near,  and 
there  was  no  mistaking  their  intentions.  Most  of  them 
carried  guns,  the  others  revolvers  and  long  ice-hooks. 

"Morgan,"  I  called,  holding  up  my  hands  for  a  truce, 
"we  wish  you  no  harm,  but  if  you  enter  these  grounds 
you  do  so  at  your  peril." 

"We're  all  sworn  deputy  sheriffs,"  called  the  care 
taker  smoothly.  "We've  got  the  law  behind  us." 

"That  must  be  why  you're  coming  in  the  back  way," 
I  replied. 

The  thick-set  man  whom  Larry  had  identified  as  the 
English  detective  now  came  closer  and  addressed  me  in 
a  high  key. 


320  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CAXDLES 

"You're  harboring  a  bad  man,  Mr.  Glenarm.  You'd 
better  give  him  up.  The  American  law  supports  me, 
and  you'll  get  yourself  in  trouble  if  you  protect  that 
man.  You  may  not  understand,  sir,  that  he's  a  very 
dangerous  character." 

"Thanks,  Davidson!"  called  Larry.  "You'd  better 
keep  out  of  this.  You  know  I'm  a  bad  man  with  the 
shillalah !" 

"That  you  are,  you  blackguard!"  yelled  the  officer, 
so  spitefully  that  we  all  laughed. 

I  drew  back  to  the  boat-house. 

"They  are  not  going  to  kill  anybody  if  they  can  help 
it,"  remarked  Stoddard,  "any  more  than  we  are.  Even 
deputy  sheriffs  are  not  turned  loose  to  do  murder,  and 
the  Wabana  County  Court  wouldn't,  if  it  hadn't  been 
imposed  on  by  Pickering,  lend  itself  to  a  game  like 
this." 

"Xow  we're  in  for  it,"  yelled  Larry,  and  the  twelve 
men,  in  close  order,  came  running  across  the  ice  toward 
the  shore. 

"Open  order,  and  fall  back  slowly  toward  the  house," 
I  commanded.  And  we  deployed  from  the  boat-house, 
while  the  attacking  party  still  clung  together, — a  stra 
tegic  error,  as  Larry  assured  us. 

"Stay  together,  lads.  Don't  separate;  you'll  get  lost 
If  you  do,"  he  yelled. 


BESIEGED  321 

Stoddard  bade  him  keep  still,  and  we  soon  had  our 
hands  full  with  a  preliminary  skirmish.  Morgan's  line 
advanced  warily.  Davidson,  the  detective,  seemed  dis 
gusted  at  Morgan's  tactics,  openly  abused  the  care 
taker,  and  ran  ahead  of  his  column,  revolver  in  hand, 
bearing  down  upon  Larry,  who  held  our  center. 

The  Englishman's  haste  was  his  undoing.  The  light 
fall  of  snow  a  few  days  before  had  gathered  in  the  little 
hollows  of  the  wood  deceptively.  The  detective  plunged 
into  one  of  these  and  fell  sprawling  on  all  fours, — a 
calamity  that  caused  his  comrades  to  pause  uneasily. 
Larry  was  upon  his  enemy  in  a  flash,  wrenched  his  pistol 
away  and  pulled  the  man  to  his  feet. 

"Ah,  Davidson !  There's  many  a  slip !  Move,  if  you 
dare  and  I'll  plug  you  with  your  own  gun."  And  he 
stood  behind  the  man,  using  him  as  a  shield  while  Mor 
gan  and  the  rest  of  the  army  hung  near  the  boat-house 
uncertainly. 

"It's  the  strategic  intellect  we've  captured,  General/' 
observed  Larry  to  me.  "You  see  the  American  invaders 
were  depending  on  British  brains." 

Morgan  now  acted  on  the  hint  we  had  furnished  him 
and  sent  his  men  out  as  skirmishers.  The  loss  of  the 
detective  had  undoubtedly  staggered  the  caretaker,  and 
we  were  slowly  retreating  toward  the  house,  Larry  with 
one  hand  on  the  collar  of  his  prisoner  and  the  other 


323    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CAXDLES 

grasping  the  revolver  with  which  he  poked  the  man 
frequently  in  the  ribs.  We  slowly  continued  our  re 
treat*  fearing  a  rush,  which  would  have  disposed  of  us 
easily  enough  if  Morgan's  company  had  shown  more  of 
a  fighting  spirit.  Stoddard's  presence  rather  amazed 
them,  I  think,  and  I  saw  that  the  invaders  kept  away 
from  his  end  of  the  line.  We  were  far  apart,  stumbling 
over  the  snow-covered  earth  and  calling  to  one  another 
now  and  then  that  we  might  not  become  too  widely  sep 
arated.  Davidson  did  not  relish  his  capture  by  the  man 
he  had  followed  across  the  ocean,  and  he  attempted  once 
to  roar  a  command  to  Morgan. 

"Try  it  again,"  I  heard  Larry  admonish  him,  "try 
that  once  more,  and  The  Sod,  God  bless  it!  will  never 
feel  the  delicate  imprint  of  your  web-feet  again." 

He  turned  the  man  about  and  rushed  him  toward  the 
house,  the  revolver  still  serving  as  a  prod.  His  speed 
gave  heart  to  the  wary  invaders  immediately  behind  him 
and  two  fellows  urged  and  led  by  Morgan  charged  our 
line  at  a  smart  pace. 

"Bolt  for  the  front  door,"  I  called  to  Larry,  and  Stod- 
dard  and  I  closed  in  after  him  to  guard  his  retreat. 

"They're  not  shooting/*  called  Stoddard.  "You  may 
be  sure  they've  had  their  orders  to  capture  the  house 
with  as  little  row  as  possible." 

We  were  now  nearing  the  edge  of  the  wood,  with  the 


BESIEGED  323 

open  meadow  and  water-tower  at  our  backs,  while  Larry 
was  making  good  time  toward  the  house. 

<rLet's  meet  them  here,"  shouted  Stoddard. 

Morgan  was  coming  up  with  a  club  in  his  hand,  mak 
ing  directly  for  me,  two  men  at  his  heels,  and  the  rest 
veering  off  toward  the  wall  of  St.  Agatha's. 

"Watch  the  house,"  I  yelled  to  the  chaplain;  and 
then,  on  the  edge  of  the  wood  Morgan  came  at  me  furi 
ously,  swinging  his  club  over  his  head,  and  in  a  moment 
we  were  fencing  away  at  a  merry  rate.  We  both  had 
revolvers  strapped  to  our  waists,  but  I  had  no  intention 
of  drawing  mine  unless  in  extremity.  At  my  right 
Stoddard  was  busy  keeping  off  Morgan's  personal 
guard,  who  seemed  reluctant  to  close  with  the  clergy 
man. 

I  have  been,  in  my  day,  something  of  a  fencer,  and 
my  knowledge  of  the  foils  stood  me  in  good  stead  now. 
With  a  tremendous  thwack  I  knocked  Morgan's  club 
flying  over  the  snow,  and,  as  we  grappled,  Bates  yelled 
from  the  house.  I  quickly  found  that  Morgan's  wound 
ed  arm  was  still  tender.  He  flinched  at  the  first  grap 
ple,  and  his  anger  got  the  better  of  his  judgment.  We 
kicked  up  the  snow  at  a  great  rate  as  we  feinted  and 
dragged  each  other  about.  He  caught  hold  of  my  belt 
with  one  hand  and  with  a  great  wrench  nearly  dragged 
me  from  my  feet,  but  I  pinioned  his  arms  and  bent 


324    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

him  backward,  then,  by  a  trick  Larry  had  taught  me, 
flung  him  upon  his  side.  It  is  not,  I  confess,  a  pretty 
business,  matching  your  brute  strength  against  that  of 
a  fellow  man,  and  as  I  cast  myself  upon  him  and  felt 
his  hard-blown  breath  on  my  face,  I  hated  myself  more 
than  I  hated  him  for  engaging  in  so  ignoble  a  contest. 

Bates  continued  to  call  from  the  house. 

"Come  on  at  any  cost,"  shouted  Stoddard,  putting 
himself  between  me  and  the  men  who  were  flying  to 
Morgan's  aid. 

I  sprang  away  from  my  adversary,  snatching  his  re 
volver,  and  ran  toward  the  house,  Stoddard  close  behind, 
but  keeping  himself  well  between  me  and  the  men  who 
were  now  after  us  in  full  cry. 

"Shoot,  you  fools,  shoot !"  howled  Morgan,  and  as  we 
reached  the  open  meadow  and  ran  for  the  house  a  shot 
gun  roared  back  of  us  and  buckshot  snapped  and  rat 
tled  on  the  stone  of  the  water  tower. 

"There's  the  sheriff,"  called  Stoddard  behind  me. 

The  officer  of  the  law  and  his  deputy  ran  into  the 
park  from  the  gate  of  St.  Agatha's,  while  the  rest  of 
Morgan's  party  were  skirting  the  wall  to  join  them. 

"Stop  or  I'll  shoot,"  yelled  Morgan,  and  I  felt  Stod 
dard  pause  in  his  gigantic  stride  to  throw  himself  be 
tween  me  and  the  pursuers. 

"Sprint  for  it  hot,"  he  called  very  coolly,  as  though 


BESIEGED  325 

he  were  coaching  me  in  a  contest  of  the  most  amiable 
sort  imaginable. 

"Get  away  from  those  guns,"  I  panted,  angered  by 
the  very  generosity  of  his  defense. 

"Feint  for  the  front  entrance  and  then  run  for  the 
terrace  and  the  library-door,"  he  commanded,  as  we 
crossed  the  little  ravine  bridge.  "They've  got  us  headed 
off." 

Twice  the  guns  boomed  behind  us,  and  twice  I  saw 
shot  cut  into  the  snow  about  me. 

"I'm  all  right,"  called  Stoddard  reassuringly,  still 
at  my  back.  "They're  not  a  bit  anxious  to  kill  me." 

I  was  at  the  top  of  my  speed  now,  but  the  clergyman 
kept  close  at  my  heels.  I  was  blowing  hard,  but  he 
made  equal  time  with  perfect  ease. 

The  sheriff  was  bawling  orders  to  his  forces,  who 
awaited  us  before  the  front  door.  Bates  and  Larry  were 
not  visible,  but  I  had  every  confidence  that  the  Irish 
man  would  reappear  in  the  fight  at  the  earliest  moment 
possible.  Bates,  too,  was  to  be  reckoned  with,  and  the 
final  struggle,  if  it  came  in  the  house  itself,  might  not 
be  so  unequal,  providing  we  knew  the  full  strength 
of  the  enemy. 

"Now  for  the  sheriff — here  we  go !"  cried  Stoddard — 
beside  me — and  we  were  close  to  the  fringe  of  trees  that 
shielded  the  entrance.  Then  off  we  veered  suddenly  to 


326  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

the  left,  close  upon  the  terrace,  where  one  of  the  French 
•windows  was  thrown  open  and  Larry  and  Bates  stepped 
out.  urging  us  on  with  lusty  cries. 

They  caught  us  by  the  arms  and  dragged  us  over 
•where  the  balustrade  was  lowest,  and  we  crowded 
through  the  door  and  slammed  it.  As  Bates  snapped 
the  bolts  ^Morgan's  party  discharged  its  combined  ar 
tillery  and  the  sheriff  began  a  great  clatter  at  the  front 
door. 

"Gentlemen,  we're  in  a  state  of  siege/'  observed 
Larry,  filling  his  pipe. 

Shot  pattered  on  the  "walls  and  several  panes  of  glass 
cracked  in  the  French  windows. 

'•'All's  tight  below,  sir."  reported  Bates.  "I  thought 
it  best  to  leave  the  tunnel  trap  open  for  our  own  use. 
Those  fellows  won't  come  in  that  way, — it's  too  much 
like  a  blind  alley.*' 

"Where's  your  prisoner,  Larry?" 

"Potato  cellar,  quite  comfortable,  thanks  !*' 

It  was  ten  o'clock  and  the  besiegers  suddenly  with 
drew  a  short  distance  for  parley  among  themselves.  Out 
side  the  sun  shone  brightly ;  and  the  sky  was  never  bluer. 
In  this  moment  of  respite,  while  we  made  ready  for 
what  further  the  day  might  bring  forth,  I  climbed  up 
to  the  finished  tower  to  make  sure  we  knew  the  enem7's 
full  strength.  I  could  see  over  the  tree-tops,  beyond  the 


BESIEGED  327 

chapel  tower,  the  roofs  of  St.  Agatha's.  There,  at  least, 
was  peace.  And  in  that  moment,  looking  over  the  hlack 
wood,  with  the  snow  lying  upon  the  ice  of  the  lake  white 
and  gleaming  under  the  sun,  I  felt  unutterably  lonely 
and  heart-sick,  and  tired  of  strife.  It  seemed  a  thou 
sand  years  ago  that  I  had  walked  and  talked  with  the 
child  Olivia;  and  ten  thousand  years  more  since  the 
girl  in  gray  at  the  Annandale  station  had  wakened  in 
me  a  higher  aim,  and  quickened  a  better  impulse  than  I 
had  ever  known. 

Larry  roared  my  name  through  the  lower  floors.  I 
went  down  with  no  wish  in  my  heart  but  to  even  matters 
with  Pickering  and  be  done  with  my  grandfather's 
legacy  for  ever. 

"The  sheriff  and  Morgan  have  gone  back  toward  the 
lake,"  reported  Larry. 

"They've  gone  to  consult  their  chief,"  I  said.  "I 
wish  Pickering  would  lead  his  own  battalions.  It  would 
give  social  prestige  to  the  fight." 

"Bah,  these  women!"  And  Larry  tore  the  corner 
from  a  cartridge  box. 

Stoddard,  with  a  pile  of  clubs  within  reach,  lay  on 
his  back  on  the  long  leather  couch,  placidly  reading  his 
Greek  testament.  Bates,  for  the  first  time  since  my  ar 
rival,  seemed  really  nervous  and  anxious.  He  pulled  a 
silver  watch  from  his  pocket  several  times,  something  I 


328    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CAXDLES 

had  never  seen  him  do  before.  He  leaned  against  the 
table,  looking  strangely  tired  and  worn,  and  I  saw  him 
start  nervously  as  he  felt  Larry's  eyes  on  him. 

"I  think,  sir,  I'd  better  take  another  look  at  the  outer 
gates,"  he  remarked  to  me  quite  respectfully. 

His  disturbed  air  aroused  my  old  antagonism.  Was 
he  playing  double  in  the  matter?  Did  he  seek  now  an 
excuse  for  conveying  some  message  to  the  enemy  ? 

"You'll  stay  where  you  are,"  I  said  sharply,  and  I 
found  myself  restlessly  fingering  my  revolver. 

"Very  good,  sir," — and  the  hurt  look  in  his  eyes 
touched  me. 

"Bates  is  all  right,"  Larry  declared,  with  an  em 
phasis  that  was  meant  to  rebuke  me. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  FIGHT  IN  THE  LIBRARY 

"They're  coining  faster  this  time,"  remarked  Stod- 
dard. 

"Certainly.  Their  general  has  been  cursing  them 
right  heartily  for  retreating  without  the  loot.  He  wants 
his  three-hundred-thousand-dollar  autograph  collec 
tion,"  observed  Larry. 

"Why  doesn't  he  come  for  it  himself,  like  a  man?"  I 
demanded. 

"Like  a  man,  do  you  say !"  ejaculated  Larry.  "Faith 
and  you  flatter  that  fat-head  !" 

It  was  nearly  eleven  o'clock  when  the  attacking  party 
returned  after  a  parley  on  the  ice  beyond  the  boat-house. 
The  four  of  us  were  on  the  terrace  ready  for  them. 
They  came  smartly  through  the  wood,  the  sheriff  and 
Morgan  slightly  in  advance  of  the  others.  I  expected 
them  to  slacken  their  pace  when  they  came  to  the  open 
meadow,  but  they  broke  into  a  quick  trot  at  the  water- 
tower  and  came  toward  the  house  as  steady  as  veteran 
campaigners. 

"Shall  we  try  gunpowder  ?"  asked  Larry. 

"We'll  let  them  fire  the  first  volley,"  I  said. 
329 


330    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"They've  already  tried  to  murder  you  and  Stoddard, 
— I'm  in  for  letting  loose  with  the  elephant  guns/'  pro 
tested  the  Irishman. 

"Stand  to  your  clubs/'  admonished  Stoddard,  whose 
own  weapon  was  comparable  to  the  Scriptural  weaver's 
beam.  "Possession  is  nine  points  of  the  fight,  and  we've 
got  the  house." 

"Also  a  prisoner  of  war,"  said  Larry,  grinning. 

The  English  detective  had  smashed  the  glass  in  the 
barred  window  of  the  potato  cellar  and  we  could  hear 
him  howling  and  cursing  below. 

"Looks  like  business  this  time!"  exclaimed  Larry. 
"Spread  out  now  and  the  first  head  that  sticks  over  tho 
balustrade  gets  a  dose  of  hickory." 

When  twenty-five  yards  from  the  terrace  the  advanc 
ing  party  divided,  half  halting  between  us  and  the 
water-tower  and  the  remainder  swinging  around  the 
house  toward  the  front  entrance. 

"Ah,  look  at  that !"  yelled  Larry.  "'It's  a  battering- 
ram  they  have.  0  man  of  peace !  have  I  your  Majesty's 
consent  to  try  the  elephant  guns  now  ?" 

Morgan  and  the  sheriff  carried  between  them  a  stick 
of  timber  from  which  the  branches  had  been  cut,  and, 
with  a  third  man  to  help,  they  ran  it  up  the  steps  and 
against  the  door  with  a  crash  that  came  booming  back 
through  the  house. 


THE    FIGHT   IN   THE   LIBEAEY        331 

Bates  was  already  bounding  up  the  front  stairway,  a 
revolver  in  his  hand  and  a  look  of  supreme  rage  on  his 
face.  Leaving  Stoddard  and  Larry  to  watch  the  library 
windows,  I  was  after  him,  and  we  clattered  over  the  loose 
boards  in  the  upper  hall  and  into  a  great  unfinished 
chamber  immediately  over  the  entrance.  Bates  had  the 
window  up  when  I  reached  him  and  was  well  out  upon 
the  coping,  yelling  a  warning  to  the  men  below. 

He  had  his  revolver  up  to  shoot,  and  when  I  caught 
his  arm  he  turned  to  me  with  a  look  of  anger  and  indig 
nation  I  had  never  expected  to  see  on  his  colorless,  mask- 
like  face.- 

"My  God,  sir !  That  door  was  his  pride,  sir, — it  came 
from  a  famous  house  in  England,  and  they're  wrecking 
it,  sir,  as  though  it  were  common  pine." 

He  tore  himself  free  of  my  grasp  as  the  besiegers 
again  launched  their  battering-ram  against  the  door 
with  a  frightful  crash,  and  his  revolver  cracked  smartly 
thrice,  as  he  bent  far  out  with  one  hand  clinging  to 
the  window  frame. 

His  shots  were  a  signal  for  a  sharp  reply  from  one  of 
the  men  below,  and  I  felt  Bates  start,  and  pulled  him 
in,  the  blood  streaming  from  his  face. 

"It's  all  right,  sir, — all  right, — only  a  cut  across  my 
cheek,  sir," — and  another  bullet  smashed  through  the 
glass,  spurting  plaster  dust  from  the  wall.  A  fierce 


333    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

onslaught  below  caused  a  tremendous  crash  to  echo 
through  the  house,  and  I  heard  firing  on  the  opposite 
side,  where  the  enemy's  reserve  was  waiting. 

Bates,  with  a  handkerchief  to  his  face,  protested  that 
he  was  unhurt. 

"Come  below;  there's  nothing  to  be  gained  here," — 
and  I  ran  down  to  the  hall,  where  Stoddard  stood,  lean 
ing  upon  his  club  like  a  Hercules  and  coolly  watching 
the  door  as  it  leaped  and  shook  under  the  repeated  blows 
of  the  besiegers. 

A  gun  roared  again  at  the  side  of  the  house,  and  I  ran 
to  the  library,  where  Larry  had  pushed  furniture  against 
all  the  long  windows  save  one,  which  he  held  open.  He 
stepped  out  upon  the  terrace  and  emptied  a  revolver  at 
the  men  who  were  now  creeping  along  the  edge  of  the 
ravine  beneath  us.  One  of  them  stopped  and  discharged 
a  rifle  at  us  with  deliberate  aim.  The  ball  snapped  snow 
from  the  balustrade  and  screamed  away  harmlessly. 

"Bah,  such  monkeys!"  he  muttered.  "I  believe  I've 
hit  that  chap!"  One  man  had  fallen  and  lay  howling 
in  the  ravine,  his  hand  to  his  thigh,  while  his  comrades 
paused,  demoralized. 

"Serves  you  right,  you  blackguard !"  Larry  muttered. 

I  pulled  him  in  and  we  jammed  a  cabinet  against  the 
door. 

Meanwhile  the  blows  at  the  front  continued  with  in- 


creasing  violence.  Stoddard  still  stood  where  I  had  left 
him.  Bates  was  not  in  sight,  but  the  barking  of  a  re 
volver  above  showed  that  he  had  returned  to  the  window 
to  take  vengeance  on  his  enemies. 

Stoddard  shook  his  head  in  deprecation. 

"They  fired  first, — we  can't  do  less  than  get  back  at 
them/'  I  said,  between  the  blows  of  the  battering-ram. 

A  panel  of  the  great  oak  door  now  splintered  in,  but 
in  their  fear  that  we  might  use  the  opening  as  a 
loophole,  they  scampered  out  into  range  of  Bates'  re 
volver.  In  return  we  heard  a  rain  of  small  shot  on  the 
upper  windows,  and  a  few  seconds  later  Larry  shouted 
that  the  flanking  party  was  again  at  the  terrace. 

This  movement  evidently  heartened  the  sheriff,  for, 
under  a  fire  from  Bates,  his  men  rushed  up  and  the  log 
crashed  again  into  the  door,  shaking  it  free  of  the  upper 
hinges.  The  lower  fastenings  were  wrenched  loose  an 
instant  later,  and  the  men  came  tumbling  into  the  hall, 
— the  sheriff,  Morgan  and  four  others  I  had  never  seen 
before.  Simultaneously  the  flanking  party  reached  the 
terrace  and  were  smashing  the  small  panes  of  the  French 
windows.  We  could  hear  the  glass  crack  and  tinkle 
above  the  confusion  at  the  door. 

In  the  hall  he  was  certainly  a  lucky  man  who  held  to 
his  weapon  a  moment  after  the  door  tumbled  in.  I 
blazed  at  the  sheriff  with  my  revolver  as  he  stumbled 


334  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

and  half-fell  at  the  threshold,  so  that  the  ball  passed 
over  him,  but  he  gripped  me  by  the  legs  and  had  me 
prone  and  half-dazed  by  the  rap  of  my  head  on  the  floor. 

I  suppose  I  was  two  or  three  minutes,  at  least,  getting 
my  wits.  I  was  first  conscious  of  Bates  grappling  the 
sheriff.,  who  sat  upon  me,  and  as  they  struggled  with  each 
other  I  got  the  full  benefit  of  their  combined,  swerving, 
tossing  weight.  Morgan  and  Larry  were  trying  for  a 
chance  at  each  other  with  revolvers,  while  Morgan 
backed  the  Irishman  slowly  toward  the  library.  Stod- 
dard  had  seized  one  of  the  unknown  deputies  with  both 
hands  by  the  collar  and  gave  his  captive  a  tremendous 
swing,  jerking  him  high  in  the  air  and  driving  him 
against  another  invader  with  a  blow  that  knocked  both 
fellows  spinning  into  a  corner. 

"Come  on  to  the  library !"  shouted  Larry,  and  Bates, 
who  had  got  me  to  my  feet,  dragged  me  down  the  hall 
toward  the  open  library-door. 

Bates  presented  at  this  moment  an  extraordinary  ap 
pearance,  with  the  blood  from  the  scratch  on  his  face 
coursing  down  his  cheek  and  upon  his  shoulder.  His 
coat  and  shirt  had  been  torn  away  and  the  blood  was 
smeared  over  his  breast.  The  fury  and  indignation  in 
his  face  was  something  I  hope  not  to  see  again  in  a  hu 
man  countenance. 

"My  God,  this  room — this  beautiful  room!"  I  heard 


THE    FIGHT   IN    THE   LIBRARY        335 

him  cry,  as  he  pushed  me  before  him  into  the  library. 
"It  was  Mr.  Glenarm's  pride,"  he  muttered,  and  sprang 
upon  a  burly  fellow  who  had  come  in  through  one  of 
the  library  doors  and  was  climbing  over  the  long  table 
we  had  set  up  as  a  barricade. 

We  were  now  between  two  fires.  The  sheriff's  party 
had  fought  valiantly  to  keep  us  out  of  the  library,  and 
now  that  we  were  within,  Stoddard's  big  shoulders  held 
the  door  half-closed  against  the  combined  strength  of 
the  men  in  the  hall.  This  pause  was  fortunate,  for  it 
gave  us  an  opportunity  to  deal  singly  with  the  fellows 
who  were  climbing  in  from  the  terrace.  Bates  had  laid 
one  of  them  low  with  a  club  and  Larry  disposed  of  an 
other,  who  had  made  a  murderous  effort  to  stick  a  knife 
into  him.  I  was  with  Stoddard  against  the  door,  where 
the  sheriff's  men  were  slowly  gaming  upon  us. 

"Let  go  on  the  jump  when  I  say  three,"  said 
Stoddard,  and  at  his  word  we  sprang  away  from  the 
door  and  into  the  room.  Larry  yelled  with  joy  as  the 
sheriff  and  his  men  pitched  forward  and  sprawled  upon 
the  floor,  and  we  were  at  it  again  in  a  hand-to-hand  con 
flict  to  clear  the  room. 

"Hold  that  position,  sir/*  yelled  Bates. 

Morgan  had  directed  the  attack  against  me  and  I  was 
driven  upon  the  hearth  before  the  great  fireplace.  The 
sheriff,  Morgan  and  Ferguson  hemmed  me  in.  It  was 


336  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

evident  that  I  was  the  chief  culprit,  and  they  wished  to 
eliminate  me  from  the  contest.  Across  the  room,  Larry, 
Stoddard  and  Bates  were  engaged  in  a  lively  rough  and 
tumble  with  the  rest  of  the  besiegers,  and  Stoddard,  see 
ing  my  plight,  leaped  the  overturned  table,  broke  past 
the  trio  and  stood  at  my  side,  swinging  a  chair. 

At  that  moment  my  eyes,  sweeping  the  outer  doors, 
saw  the  face  of  Pickering.  He  had  come  to  see  that  his 
orders  were  obeyed,  and  I  remember  yet  my  satisfac 
tion,  as,  hemmed  in  by  the  men  he  had  hired  to  kill  me 
or  drive  me  out,  I  felt,  rather  than  saw,  the  cowardly 
horror  depicted  upon  his  face. 

Then  the  trio  pressed  in  upon  me.  As  I  threw  down 
my  club  and  drew  my  revolver,  some  one  across  the 
room  fired  several  shots,  whose  roar  through  the  room 
seemed  to  arrest  the  fight  for  an  instant,  and  then,  while 
Stoddard  stood  at  my  side  swinging  his  chair  defensive 
ly,  the  great  chandelier,  loosened  or  broken  by  the  shots, 
fell  with  a  mighty  crash  of  its  crystal  pendants.  The 
sheriff,  leaping  away  from  Stoddard's  club,  was  struck 
on  the  head  and  borne  down  by  the  heavy  glass. 

Smoke  from  the  firing  floated  in  clouds  across  the 
room,  and  there  was  a  moment's  silence  save  for  the 
sheriff,  who  was  groaning  and  cursing  under  the  debris 
of  the  chandelier.  At  the  door  Pickering's  face  ap- 


THE    FIGHT   IN   THE   LIBRARY        337 

peared  again  anxious  and  frightened.  I  think  the  scene 
in  the  room  and  the  slow  progress  his  men  were  making 
against  us  had  half-paralyzed  him. 

We  were  all  getting  our  second  wind  for  a  renewal 
of  the  fight,  with  Morgan  in  command  of  the  enemy. 
One  or  two  of  his  men,  who  had  gone  down  early  in  the 
struggle,  were  now  crawling  back  for  revenge.  I  think 
I  must  have  raised  my  hand  and  pointed  at  Pickering, 
for  Bates  wheeled  like  a  flash  and  before  I  realized  what 
happened  he  had  dragged  the  executor  into  the  room. 

"You.  scoundrel — you  ingrate !"  howled  the  servant. 

The  blood  on  his  face  and  bare  chest  and  the  hatred 
in  his  eyes  made  him  a  hideous  object ;  but  in  that  lull 
of  the  storm  while  we  waited,  watching  for  an  advan 
tage,  I  heard  off  somewhere,  above  or  below,  that  same 
sound  of  footsteps  that  I  had  remarked  before.  Larry 
and  Stoddard  heard  it ;  Bates  heard  it,  and  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  Pickering  with  a  glare  of  malicious  delight. 

"There  comes  our  old  friend,  the  ghost,"  yelled  Larry. 

"I  think  you  are  quite  right,  sir,"  said  Bates.  He 
threw  down  the  revolver  he  held  in  his  hand  and  leaned 
upon  the  edge  of  the  long  table  that  lay  on  its  side,  his 
gaze  still  bent  on  Pickering,  who  stood  with  his  overcoat 
buttoned  close,  his  derby  hat  on  the  floor  beside  him, 
where  it  had  fallen  as  Bates  hauled  him  into  the  room. 


338     THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CAXDLES 

The  sound  of  a  measured  step,  of  some  one  walking, 
of  a  careful  foot  on  a  stairway,  was  quite  distinct.  I  even 
remarked  the  slight  stumble  that  I  had  noticed  before. 

We  were  all  so  intent  on  those  steps  in  the  wall  that 
we  were  off  guard.  I  heard  Bates  yell  at  me,  and  Larry 
and  Stoddard  rushed  for  Pickering.  He  had  drawn  a 
revolver  from  his  overcoat  pocket  and  thrown  it  up  to 
fire  at  me  when  Stoddard  sent  the  weapon  flying  through 
the  air. 

"Only  a  moment  now,  gentlemen,"  said  Bates,  an  odd 
smile  on  his  face.  He  was  looking  past  me  toward  the 
right  end  of  the  fireplace.  There  seemed  to  be  in  the 
air  a  feeling  of  something  impending.  Even  Morgan 
and  his  men,  half-crouching  ready  for  a  rush  at  me,  hesi 
tated  ;  and  Pickering  glanced  nervously  from  one  to  the 
other  of  us.  It  was  the  calm  before  the  storm ;  in  a  mo 
ment  we  should  be  at  each  other's  throats  for  the  final 
struggle,  and  yet  we  waited.  In  the  wall  I  heard  still 
the  sound  of  steps.  They  were  clear  to  all  of  us  now. 
"We  stood  there  for  what  seemed  an  eternity — I  suppose 
the  time  was  really  not  more  than  thirty  seconds — inert, 
waiting,  while  I  felt  that  something  must  happen;  the 
silence,  the  waiting,  were  intolerable.  I  grasped  my  pis 
tol  and  bent  low  for  a  spring  at  Morgan,  with  the  over 
turned  table  and  wreckage  of  the  chandelier  between  me 


THE    FIGHT   IN   THE   LIBEAEY        339 

and  Pickering ;  and  every  man  in  the  room  was  instantly 
on  the  alert. 

All  but  Bates.  He  remained  rigid — that  curious 
smile  on  his  blood-smeared  face,  his  eyes  bent  toward  the 
end  of  the  great  fireplace  back  of  me. 

That  look  on  his  face  held,  arrested,  numbed  me;  I 
followed  it.  I  forgot  Morgan;  a  tacit  truce  held  us  all 
again.  I  stepped  back  till  my  eyes  fastened  on  the 
broad  paneled  chimney-breast  at  the  right  of  the  hearth, 
and  it  was  there  now  that  the  sound  of  footsteps  in  the 
wall  was  heard  again;  then  it  ceased  utterly,  the  long 
panel  opened  slowly,  creaking  slightly  upon  its  hinges, 
then  down  into  the  room  stepped  Marian  Devereux. 
She  wore  the  dark  gown  in  which  I  had  seen  her  last, 
and  a  cloak  was  drawn  over  her  shoulders. 

She  laughed  as  her  eyes  swept  the  room. 

"Ah,  gentlemen,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head,  as  she 
viewed  our  disorder,  "what  wretched  housekeepers  you 
are!" 

Steps  were  again  heard  in  the  wall,  and  she  turned  to 
the  panel,  held  it  open  with  one  hand  and  put  out  the 
other,  waiting  for  some  one  who  followed  her. 

Then  down  into  the  room  stepped  my  grandfather, 
John  Marshall  Glenarm!  His  staff,  his  cloak,  the  silk 
hat  above  his  shrewd  face,  and  his  sharp  black  eyes  were 


340    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

unmistakable.  He  drew  a  silk  handkerchief  from  the 
skirts  of  his  frock  coat,  with  a  characteristic  flourish 
that  I  remembered  well,  and  brushed  a  bit  of  dust  from 
his  cloak  before  looking  at  any  of  us.  Then  his  eyes 
fell  upon  me. 

"Good  morning,  Jack,"  he  said;  and  his  gaze  swept 
the  room. 

"God  help  us !" 

It  was  Morgan,  I  think,  who  screamed  these  words  as 
he  bolted  for  the  broken  door,  but  Stoddard  caught  and 
held  him. 

"Thank  God,  you're  here,  sir  !"  boomed  forth  in  Bates' 
sepulchral  voice. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  I  saw  all  that  happened  with  a 
weird,  unnatural  distinctness,  as  one  sees,  before  a 
storm,  vivid  outlines  of  far  headlands  that  the  usual 
light  of  day  scarce  discloses. 

I  was  myself  dazed  and  spellbound ;  but  I  do  not  like 
to  think,  even  now,  of  the  effect  of  my  grandfather's 
appearance  on  Arthur  Pickering;  of  the  shock  that 
seemed  verily  to  break  him  in  two,  so  that  he  staggered, 
then  collapsed,  his  head  falling  as  though  to  strike  his 
knees.  Larry  caught  him  by  the  collar  and  dragged  him 
to  a  seat,  where  he  huddled,  his  twitching  hands  at  his 
throat. 


THE    FIGHT   IN   THE   LIBRARY        341 

"Gentlemen/'  said  my  grandfather,  "you  seem  to  have 
been  enjoying  yourselves.  Who  is  this  person  ?" 

He  pointed  with  his  stick  to  the  sheriff,  who  was  en 
deavoring  to  crawl  out  from  under  the  mass  of  broken 
crystals. 

"That,  sir,  is  the  sheriff,"  answered  Bates. 

"A  very  disorderly  man,  I  must  say.  Jack,  what 
have  you  been  doing  to  cause  the  sheriff  so  much  incon 
venience?  Didn't  you  know  that  that  chandelier  was 
likely  to  kill  him  ?  That  thing  cost  a  thousand  dollars, 
gentlemen.  You  are  expensive  visitors.  Ah,  Morgan, — 
and  Ferguson,  too !  Well,  well !  I  thought  better  of  both 
of  you.  Good  morning,  Stoddard!  A  little  work  for 
the  Church  militant !  And  this  gentleman  ?" — he  indi 
cated  Larry,  who  was,  for  once  in  his  life,  without  any 
thing  to  say. 

"Mr.  Donovan, — a  friend  of  the  house,"  explained 
Bates. 

"Pleased,  I'm  sure,"  said  the  old  gentleman.  "Glad 
the  house  had  a  friend.  It  seems  to  have  had  enemies 
enough,"  he  added  dolefully;  and  he  eyed  the  wreck  of 
the  room  ruefully.  The  good  humor  in  his  face  reas 
sured  me ;  but  still  I  stood  in  tongue-tied  wonder,  star 
ing  at  him. 

"And  Pickering!"     John  Marshall  Glenarm's  voice 


342    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

broke  with  a  quiet  mirth  that  I  remembered  as  the  pref 
ace  usually  of  something  unpleasant.  "Well,  Arthur, 
I'm  glad  to  find  you  on  guard,  defending  the  interests 
of  my  estate.  At  the  risk  of  your  life,  too !  Bates !" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Glenarm." 

"You  ought  to  have  called  me  earlier.  I  really  prized 
that  chandelier  immensely.  And  this  furniture  wasn't 
so  bad !" 

His  tone  changed  abruptly.  He  pointed  to  the 
sheriff's  deputies  one  after  the  other  with  his  stick. 
There  was,  I  remembered,  always  something  insinuat 
ing,  disagreeable  and  final  about  my  grandfather's  staff. 

"Clear  out !"  he  commanded.  "Bates,  see  these  fel 
lows  through  the  wall.  Mr.  Sheriff,  if  I  were  you  I'd 
be  very  careful,  indeed,  what  I  said  of  this  affair.  I'm 
a  dead  man  come  to  life  again,  and  I  know  a  great  deal 
that  I  didn't  know  before  I  died.  Nothing,  gentlemen, 
fits  a  man  for  life  like  a  temporary  absence  from  this 
cheerful  and  pleasant  world.  I  recommend  you  to  try 
it." 

He  walked  about  the  room  with  the  quick  eager  step 
that  was  peculiarly  his  own,  while  Stoddard,  Larry  and 
I  stared  at  him.  Bates  was  helping  the  dazed  sheriff 
to  his  feet.  Morgan  and  the  rest  of  the  foe  were  crawl 
ing  and  staggering  away,  muttering,  as  though  implor 
ing  the  air  of  heaven  against  an  evil  spirit. 


THE   FIGHT   IN   THE   LIBEAEY        343 

Pickering  sat  silent,  not  sure  whether  he  saw  a  ghost 
or  real  flesh  and  blood,  and  Larry  kept  close  to  him,  cut 
ting  off  his  retreat.  I  think  we  all  experienced  that  be 
wildered  feeling  of  children  who  are  caught  in  mischief 
by  a  sudden  parental  visitation.  My  grandfather  went 
about  peering  at  the  books,  with  a  tranquil  air  that  was 
disquieting. 

He  paused  suddenly  before  the  design  for  the  me 
morial  tablet,  which  I  had  made  early  in  my  stay  at 
Glenarm  House.  I  had  sketched  the  lettering  with  some 
care,  and  pinned  it  against  a  shelf  for  my  more  leisurely 
study  of  its  phrases.  The  old  gentlemen  pulled  out  his 
glasses  and  stood  with  his  hands  behind  his  back,  read 
ing.  When  he  finished  he  walked  to  where  I  stood. 

"Jack!"  he  said,  "Jack,  my  boy!"  His  voice  shook 
and  his  hands  trembled  as  he  laid  them  on  my  shoulders. 
"Marian," — he  turned,  seeking  her,  but  the  girl  had 
vanished.  "Just  as  well,"  he  said.  "This  room  is  hardly 
an  edifying  sight  for  a  woman."  I  heard,  for  an  in 
stant,  a  light  hurried  step  in  the  wall. 

Pickering,  too,  heard  that  faint,  fugitive  sound,  and 
our  eyes  met  at  the  instant  it  ceased.  The  thought  of 
her  tore  my  heart,  and  I  felt  that  Pickering  saw  and 
knew  and  was  glad. 

"They  have  all  gone,  sir,"  reported  Bates,  returning 
to  the  room. 


344    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"Now,  gentlemen,"  began  my  grandfather,  seating 
himself,  "I  owe  you  an  apology ;  this  little  secret  of  mine 
was  shared  by  only  two  persons.  One  of  these  was  Bates," 
— he  paused  as  an  exclamation  broke  from  all  of  us ;  and 
he  went  on,  enjoying  our  amazement, — "and  the  other 
was  Marian  Devereux.  I  had  often  observed  that  at  a 
man's  death  his  property  gets  into  the  wrong  hands,  or 
becomes  a  bone  of  contention  among  lawyers.  Some 
times,"  and  the  old  gentleman  laughed,  "an  executor 
proves  incompetent  or  dishonest.  I  was  thoroughly 
fooled  in  you,  Pickering.  The  money  you  owe  me  is  a 
large  sum;  and  you  were  so  delighted  to  hear  of  my 
death  that  you  didn't  even  make  sure  I  was  really  out  of 
the  way.  You  were  perfectly  willing  to  accept  Bates' 
word  for  it;  and  I  must  say  that  Bates  carried  it  off 
splendidly." 

Pickering  rose,  the  blood  surging  again  in  his  face, 
and  screamed  at  Bates,  pointing  a  shaking  finger  at  the 
man. 

"You  impostor, — you  perjurer !  The  law  will  deal 
with  your  case." 

"To  be  sure,"  resumed  my  grandfather  calmly; 
"Bates  did  make  false  affidavits  about  my  death;  but 
possibly — " 

"It  was  in  a  Pickwickian  sense,  sir,"  said  Bates 
gravely. 


"And  in  a  righteous  cause,"  declared  my  grandfather. 
"I  assure  you,  Pickering,  that  I  have  every  intention  of 
taking  care  of  Bates.  His  weekly  letters  giving  an  ac 
count  of  the  curious  manifestations  of  your  devotion  to 
Jack's  security  and  peace  were  alone  worth  a  goodly 
sum.  But,  Bates — " 

The  old  gentleman  was  enjoying  himself  hugely.  He 
chuckled  now,  and  placed  his  hand  on  my  shoulder. 

"Bates,  it  was  too  bad  I  got  those  missives  of  yours 
all  in  a  bunch.  I  was  in  a  dahabiyeh  on  the  Nile  and 
they  don't  have  rural  free  delivery  in  Egypt.  Your 
cablegram  called  me  home  before  I  got  the  letters.  But 
thank  God,  Jack,  you're  alive !" 

There  was  real  feeling  in  these  last  words,  and  I 
think  we  were  all  touched  by  them. 

"Amen  to  that !"  cried  Bates. 

"And  now,  Pickering,  before  you  go  I  want  to  show 
you  something.  It's  about  this  mysterious  treasure,  that 
has  given  you — and  I  hear,  the  whole  countryside — so 
much  concern.  I'm  disappointed  in  you,  Jack,  that  you 
couldn't  find  the  hiding-place.  I  designed  that  as  a  part 
of  your  architectural  education.  Bates,  give  me  a 
chair." 

The  man  gravely  drew  a  chair  out  of  the  wreckage 
and  placed  it  upon  the  hearth.  My  grandfather  stepped 
upon  it,  seized  one  of  the  bronze  sconces  above  the  man- 


346    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

tel  and  gave  it  a  sharp  turn.  At  the  same  moment, 
Bates,  upon  another  chair,  grasped  the  companion 
bronze  and  wrenched  it  sharply.  Instantly  some  mech 
anism  creaked  in  the  great  oak  chimney-breast  and  the 
long  oak  panels  swung  open,  disclosing  a  steel  door  with 
a  combination  knob. 

"Gentlemen," — and  my  grandfather  turned  with  a 
quaint  touch  of  humor,  and  a  merry  twinkle  in  his 
bright  old  eyes — "gentlemen,  behold  the  treasury!  It 
has  proved  a  better  hiding-place  than  I  ever  imagined 
it  would.  There's  not  much  here,  Jack,  but  enough  to 
keep  you  going  for  a  while." 

We  were  all  staring,  and  the  old  gentleman  was  un- 
feignedly  enjoying  our  mystification.  It  was  an  hour 
on  which  he  had  evidently  counted  much;  it  was  the 
triumph  of  his  resurrection  and  home-coming,  and  he 
chuckled  as  he  twirled  the  knob  in  the  steel  door.  Then 
Bates  stepped  forward  and  helped  him  pull  the  door 
open,  disclosing  a  narrow  steel  chest,  upright  and  held 
in  place  by  heavy  bolts  clamped  in  the  stone  of  the  chim 
ney.  It  was  filled  with  packets  of  papers  placed  on 
shelves,  and  tied  neatly  with  tape. 

"Jack,"  said  my  grandfather,  shaking  his  head,  "you 
wouldn't  be  an  architect,  and  you're  not  much  of  an 
engineer  either,  or  you'd  have  seen  that  that  paneling 


THE    FIGHT   IN   THE   LIBRARY        347 

was  heavier  than  was  necessary.  There's  two  hundred 
thousand  dollars  in  first-rate  securities — I  vouch  for 
them !  Bates  and  I  put  them  there  just  before  I  went 
to  Vermont  to  die." 

"I've  sounded  those  panels  a  dozen  times,"  I  pro 
tested. 

"Of  course  you  have,"  said  my  grandfather,  "but 
solid  steel  behind  wood  is  safe.  I  tested  it  carefully  be 
fore  I  left." 

He  laughed  and  clapped  his  knees,  and  I  laughed  with 
him. 

"But  you  found  the  Door  of  Bewilderment  and  Pick 
ering's  notes,  and  that's  something." 

"No;  I  didn't  even  find  that.  Donovan  deserves  the 
credit.  But  how  did  you  ever  come  to  build  that  tunnel, 
if  you  don't  mind  telling  me  ?" 

He  laughed  gleefully. 

"That  was  originally  a  trench  for  natural-gas  pipes. 
There  was  once  a  large  pumping-station  on  the  site  of 
this  house,  with  a  big  trunk  main  running  off  across 
country  to  supply  the  towns  west  of  here.  The  gas  was 
exhausted,  and  the  pipes  were  taken  up  before  I  began 
to  build.  I  should  never  have  thought  of  that  tunnel  in 
the  world  if  the  trench  hadn't  suggested  it.  I  merely 
deepened  and  widened  it  a  little  and  plastered  it  with 


348    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

cheap  cement  as  far  as  the  chapel,  and  that  little  room 
there  where  I  put  Pickering's  notes  had  once  been  the 
cellar  of  a  house  built  for  the  superintendent  of  the  gas 
plant.  I  had  never  any  idea  that  I  should  use  that  pas 
sage  as  a  means  of  getting  into  my  own  house,  but  Mar 
ian  met  me  at  the  station,  told  me  that  there  was  trou 
ble  here,  and  came  with  me  through  the  chapel  into  the 
cellar,  and  through  the  hidden  stairway  that  winds 
around  the  chimney  from  that  room  where  we  keep  the 
candlesticks." 

"But  who  was  the  ghost?"  I  demanded,  "if  you  were 
really  alive  and  in  Egypt  ?" 

Bates  laughed  now. 

"Oh,  I  was  the  ghost!  I  went  through  there  occa 
sionally  to  stimulate  your  curiosity  about  the  house. 
And  you  nearly  caught  me  once !" 

"One  thing  more,  if  we're  not  wearing  you  out — I'd 
like  to  know  whether  Sister  Theresa  owes  you  any 
money." 

My  grandfather  turned  upon  Pickering  with  blazing 
eyes. 

"You  scoundrel,  you  infernal  scoundrel,  Sister 
Theresa  never  borrowed  a  cent  of  me  in  her  life !  And 
you  have  made  war  on  that  woman — " 

His  rage  choked  him. 


THE   FIGHT   IN   THE   LIBKAKY        349 

He  told  Bates  to  close  the  door  of  the  steel  chest,  and 
then  turned  to  me. 

"Where  are  those  notes  of  Pickering's?"  he  demand 
ed  ;  and  I  brought  the  packet. 

"Gentlemen,  Mr.  Pickering  has  gone  to  ugly  lengths 
in  this  affair.  How  many  murders  have  you  gentlemen 
committed  ?" 

"We  were  about  to  begin  actual  killing  when  you  ar 
rived,"  replied  Larry,  grinning. 

"The  sheriff  got  all  his  men  off  the  premises  more  or 
less  alive,  sir,"  said  Bates. 

"That  is  good.  It  was  all  a  great  mistake, — a  very 
great  mistake," — and  my  grandfather  turned  to  Picker 
ing. 

"Pickering,  what  a  contemptible  scoundrel  you  are! 
I  lent  you  that  three  hundred  thousand  dollars  to  buy 
securities  to  give  you  better  standing  in  your  railroad 
enterprises,  and  the  last  time  I  saw  you,  you  got  me  to 
release  the  collateral  so  you  could  raise  money  to  buy 
more  shares.  Then,  after  I  died" — he  chuckled — "you 
thought  you'd  find  and  destroy  the  notes  and  that  would 
end  the  transaction ;  and  if  you  had  been  smart  enough 
to  find  them  you  might  have  had  them  and  welcome. 
But  as  it  is,  they  go  to  Jack.  If  he  shows  any  mercy 
on  you  in  collecting  them  he's  not  the  boy  I  think  he  is." 


350    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

Pickering  rose,  seized  his  hat  and  turned  toward  the 
shattered  library-door.  He  paused  for  one  moment,  his 
face  livid  with  rage. 

"You  old  fool !"  he  screamed  at  my  grandfather. 
"You  old  lunatic,  I  wish  to  God  I  had  never  seen  you ! 
No  wonder  you  came  back  to  life !  You're  a  tricky  old 
devil  and  too  mean  to  die !" 

He  turned  toward  me  with  some  similar  complaint 
ready  at  his  tongue's  end ;  but  Stoddard  caught  him  by 
the  shoulders  and  thrust  him  out  upon  the  terrace. 

A  moment  later  we  saw  him  cross  the  meadow  and 
hurry  toward  St.  Agatha's. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

CHANGES  AND  CHANCES 

John  Marshall  Glenarm  had  probably  never  been  so 
happy  in  his  life  as  on  that  day  of  his  amazing  home 
coming.  He  laughed  at  us  and  he  laughed  with  us,  and 
as  he  went  about  the  house  explaining  his  plans  for  its 
completion,  he  chaffed  us  all  with  his  shrewd  humor 
that  had  been  the  terror  of  my  boyhood. 

"Ah,  if  you  had  had  the  plans  of  course  you  would 
have  been  saved  a  lot  of  trouble;  but  that  little  sketch 
of  the  Door  of  Bewilderment  was  the  only  thing  I  left, 
— and  you  found  it,  Jack, — you  really  opened  these  good 
books  of  mine." 

He  sent  us  all  away  to  remove  the  marks  of  battle,  and 
we  gave  Bates  a  hand  in  cleaning  up  the  wreckage, — 
Bates,  the  keeper  of  secrets;  Bates,  the  inscrutable  and 
mysterious ;  Bates,  the  real  hero  of  the  affair  at  Glenarm. 

He  led  us  through  the  narrow  stairway  by  which  he 
had  entered,  which  had  been  built  between  false  walls, 
and  we  played  ghost  for  one  another,  to  show  just  how 
the  tread  of  a  human  being  around  the  chimney  sound 
ed.  There  was  much  to  explain,  and  my  grandfather's 

351 


352     THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CAXDLES 

contrition  for  having  placed  me  in  so  hazardous  a  pre 
dicament  was  so  sincere,  and  his  wish  to  make  amends 
so  evident,  that  my  heart  warmed  to  him.  He  made  me 
describe  in  detail  all  the  incidents  of  my  stay  at  the 
house,  listening  with  boyish  delight  to  my  adventures. 

"Bless  my  soul !"  he  exclaimed  over  and  over  again. 
And  as  I  brought  my  two  friends  into  the  story  his  de 
light  knew  no  bounds,  and  he  kept  chuckling  to  himself ; 
and  insisted  half  a  dozen  times  on  shaking  hands  with 
Larry  and  Stoddard,  who  were,  he  declared,  his  friends 
as  well  as  mine. 

The  prisoner  in  the  potato  cellar  received  our  due  at 
tention;  and  my  grandfather's  joy  in  the  fact  that  an 
agent  of  the  British  government  was  held  captive  in 
Glenarm  House  was  cheering  to  see.  But  the  man's  de 
tention  was  a  grave  matter,  as  we  all  realized,  and  made 
imperative  the  immediate  consideration  of  Larry's  fu 
ture. 

"I  must  go — and  go  at  once !"  declared  Larry. 

"Mr.  Donovan,  I  should  feel  honored  to  have  you  re 
main,"  said  my  grandfather.  "I  hope  to  hold  Jack 
here,  and  I  wish  you  would  share  the  house  with  us." 

"The  sheriff  and  those  fellows  won't  squeal  very  hard 
about  their  performances  here,"  said  Stoddard.  "And 
they  won't  try  to  rescue  the  prisoner,  even  for  a  reward, 
from  a  house  where  the  dead  come  back  to  life." 


CHANGES   AND    CHANCES  353 

"No;  but  you  can't  hold  a  British  prisoner  in  an 
American  private  house  for  ever.  Too  many  people 
know  he  has  been  in  this  part  of  the  country ;  and  you 
may  be  sure  that  the  fight  here  and  the  return  of  Mr. 
Glenarm  will  not  fail  of  large  advertisement.  All  I  can 
ask  of  you,  Mr.  Glenarm,  is  that  you  hold  the  fellow  a 
few  hours  after  I  leave,  to  give  me  a  start." 

"Certainly.  But  when  this  trouble  of  yours  blows 
over,  I  hope  you  will  come  back  and  help  Jack  to  live 
a  decent  and  orderly  life/' 

My  grandfather  spoke  of  my  remaining  with  a 
warmth  that  was  grateful  to  my  heart ;  but  the  place  and 
its  associations  had  grown  unbearable.  I  had  not  men 
tioned  Marian  Devereux  to  him,  I  had  not  told  him  of 
my  Christmas  flight  to  Cincinnati;  for  the  fact  that  I 
had  run  away  and  forfeited  my  right  made  no  difference 
now,  and  I  waited  for  an  opportunity  when  we  should 
be  alone  to  talk  of  my  own  affairs. 

At  luncheon,  delayed  until  mid-afternoon,  Bates  pro 
duced  champagne,  and  the  three  of  us,  worn  with  excite 
ment  and  stress  of  battle,  drank  a  toast,  standing,  to  the 
health  of  John  Marshall  Glenarm. 

"My  friends," — the  old  gentleman  rose  and  we  all 
stood,  our  eyes  bent  upon  him  in,  I  think,  real  affection, 
— "I  am  an  old  and  foolish  man.  Ever  since  I  was 
able  to  do  so  I  have  indulged  my  whims.  This  house 


is  one  of  them.  I  had  wished  to  make  it  a  thing  of 
beauty  and  dignity,  and  I  had  hoped  that  Jack  would 
care  for  it  and  be  willing  to  complete  it  and  settle  here. 
The  means  I  employed  to  test  him  were  not,  I  admit, 
worthy  of  a  man  who  intends  well  toward  his  own  flesh 
and  blood.  Those  African  adventures  of  yours  scared 
me,  Jack;  but  to  think" — and  he  laughed — "that  I 
placed  you  here  in  this  peaceful  place  amid  greater  dan 
gers  probably  than  you  ever  met  in  tiger-hunting !  But 
you  have  put  me  to  shame.  Here's  health  and  peace  to 
you !" 

"So  say  we  all!"  cried  the  others. 

"One  thing  more,"  my  grandfather  continued,"!  don't 
want  you  to  think,  Jack,  that  you  would  really  have 
been  cut  c'l  under  any  circumstances  if  I  had  died  while 
I  wac  hiding  in  Egypt.  What  I  wanted,  boy,  was  to 
get  you  home !  I  made  another  will  in  England,  where 
I  deposited  the  bulk  of  my  property  before  I  died,  and 
did  not  forget  you.  That  will  was  to  protect  you  in  case 
I  really  died !" — and  he  laughed  cheerily. 

The  others  left  us — Stoddard  to  help  Larry  get  his 
things  together — and  my  grandfather  and  I  talked  for 
an  hour  at  the  table. 

"I  have  thought  that  many  things  might  happen 
here,"  I  said,  watching  his  fine,  slim  fingers,  as  he  pol 
ished  his  eye-glasses,  then  rested  his  elbows  on  the  table 


CHANGES   AND    CHANCES  355 

and  smiled  at  me.  "I  thought  for  a  while  that  I  should 
certainly  be  shot;  then  at  times  I  was  afraid  I  might 
not  be;  but  your  return  in  the  flesh  was  something  I 
never  considered  among  the  possibilities.  Bates  fooled 
me.  That  talk  I  overheard  between  him  and  Pickering 
in  the  church  porch  that  foggy  night  was  the  thing  that 
seemed  to  settle  his  case ;  then  the  next  thing  I  knew  he 
was  defending  the  house  at  the  serious  risk  of  his  life; 
and  I  was  more  puzzled  than  ever." 

"Yes,  a  wonderful  man,  Bates.  He  always  disliked 
Pickering,  and  he  rejoiced  in  tricking  him." 

"Where  did  you  pick  Bates  up?  He  told  me  he  was 
a  Yankee,  but  he  doesn't  act  or  talk  it." 

My  grandfather  laughed.  "Of  course  not!  He's  an 
Irishman  and  a  man  of  education — but  that's  all  I  know 
about  him,  except  that  he  is  a  marvelously  efficient  ser 
vant." 

My  mind  was  not  on  Bates.  I  was  thinking  now  of 
Marian  Devereux.  I  could  not  go  on  further  with  my 
grandfather  without  telling  him  how  I  had  run  away 
and  broken  faith  with  him,  but  he  gave  me  no  chance. 

"You  will  stay  on  here, — you  will  help  me  to  finish 
the  house?"  he  asked  with  an  unmistakable  eagerness 
of  look  and  tone. 

It  seemed  harsh  and  ungenerous  to  tell  him  that  I 
wished  to  go ;  that  the  great  world  lay  beyond  the  con- 


356    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

fines  of  Glenarm  for  me  to  conquer;  that  I  had  lost  as 
well  as  gained  by  those  few  months  at  Glenarm  House, 
and  wished  to  go  away.  It  was  not  the  mystery,  now 
fathomed,  nor  the  struggle,  now  ended,  that  was  up 
permost  in  my  mind  and  heart,  but  memories  of  a  girl 
who  had  mocked  me  with  delicious  girlish  laughter, — 
who  had  led  me  away  that  I  might  see  her  transformed 
into  another,  more  charming,  being.  It  was  a  comfort 
to  know  that  Pickering,  trapped  and  defeated,  was  not 
to  benefit  by  the  bold  trick  she  had  helped  him  play  upon 
me.  His  loss  was  hers  as  well,  and  I  was  glad  in  my 
bitterness  that  I  had  found  her  in  the  passage,  seeking 
for  plunder  at  the  behest  of  the  same  master  whom  Mor 
gan,  Ferguson  and  the  rest  of  them  served. 

The  fight  was  over  and  there  was  nothing  more  for  me 
to  do  in  the  house  by  the  lake.  After  a  week  or  so  I 
should  go  forth  and  try  to  win  a  place  for  myself.  I 
had  my  profession;  I  was  an  engineer,  and  I  did  not 
question  that  I  should  be  able  to  find  employment.  As 
for  my  grandfather,  Bates  would  care  for  him,  and  I 
should  visit  him  often.  I  was  resolved  not  to  give  him 
any  further  cause  for  anxiety  on  account  of  my  adven 
turous  and  roving  ways.  He  knew  well  enough  that  his 
old  hope  of  making  an  architect  of  me  was  lost  beyond 
redemption — I  had  told  him  that — and  now  I  wished  to 
depart  in  peace  and  go  to  some  new  part  of  the  world, 


CHANGES   AND    CHANCES  357 

where  there  were  lines  to  run,  tracks  to  lay  and  bridges 
to  build. 

These  thoughts  so  filled  my  mind  that  I  forgot  he 
was  patiently  waiting  for  my  answer. 

"I  should  like  to  do  anything  you  ask;  I  should  like 
to  stay  here  always,  but  I  can't.  Don't  misunderstand 
me.  I  have  no  intention  of  going  back  to  my  old  ways. 
I  squandered  enough  money  in  my  wanderings,  and  I 
had  my  joy  of  that  kind  of  thing.  I  shall  find  employ 
ment  somewhere  and  go  to  work." 

"But,  Jack," — he  bent  toward  me  kindly, — "Jack,  you 
mustn't  be  led  away  by  any  mere  quixotism  into  laying 
the  foundation  of  your  own  fortune.  What  I  have  is 
yours,  boy.  What  is  in  the  box  in  the  chimney  is  yours 
now — to-day." 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't!  You  were  always  too  kind, 
and  I  deserve  nothing,  absolutely  nothing." 

"I'm  not  trying  to  pay  you,  Jack.  I  want  to  ease  my 
own  conscience,  that's  alL" 

"But  money  can  do  nothing  for  mine,"  I  replied,  try 
ing  to  smile.  "I've  been  dependent  all  my  days,  and 
now  I'm  going  to  work.  If  you  were  infirm  and  needed 
me,  I  should  not  hesitate,  but  the  world  will  have  its 
eyes  on  me  now." 

"Jack,  that  will  of  mine  did  you  a  great  wrong;  it 
put  a  mark  upon  you,  and  that's  what  hurts  me,  that's 


358    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CAXDLES 


what  I  want  to  make  amends  for  !    Don't  you  see  ? 
don't  punish  me,  boy.    Come  !    Let  us  be  friends  I" 

He  rose  and  put  out  his  hands. 

"I  didn't  mean  that!  I  don't  care  about  that!  It 
was  nothing  more  than  I  deserved.  These  months  here 
have  changed  me.  Haven't  you  heard  me  say  I  was  go 
ing  to  work  ?" 

And  I  tried  to  laugh  away  further  discussion  of  my 
future. 

"It  will  be  more  cheerful  here  in  the  spring,"  he  said, 
as  though  seeking  an  inducement  for  me  to  remain. 
"When  the  resort  colony  down  here  comes  to  life  the 
lake  is  really  gay." 

I  shook  my  head.  The  lake,  that  pretty  cupful  of 
water,  the  dip  and  glide  of  a  certain  canoe,  the  remem 
brance  of  a  red  tam-o'-shanter  merging  afar  off  in  an 
October  sunset  —  my  purpose  to  leave  the  place  strength 
ened  as  I  thought  of  these  things.  My  nerves  were 
keyed  to  a  breaking  pitch  and  I  turned  upon  him  storm- 

fly- 

"So  Miss  Devereux  was  the  other  person  who  shared 
your  confidence  !  Do  you  understand,  —  do  you  appreci 
ate  the  fact  that  she  was  Pickering's  ally  ?" 

"I  certainly  do  not,"  he  replied  coldly.  "I'm  sur 
prised  to  hear  you  speak  so  of  a  woman  whom  you  can 
scarcely  know  —  " 


CHANGES   AND    CHANCES  359 

"Yes,  I  know  her ;  my  God,  I  have  reason  to  know  her  I 
But  even  when  I  found  her  out  I  did  not  dream  that 
the  plot  was  as  deep  as  it  is.  She  knew  that  it  was  a 
scheme  to  test  me,  and  she  played  me  into  Pickering's 
hands.  I  saw  her  only  a  few  nights  ago  down  there  in 
the  tunnel  acting  as  his  spy,  looking  for  the  lost  notes 
that  she  might  gain  grace  in  his  eyes  by  turning  them 
over  to  him.  You  know  I  always  hated  Pickering, — he 
was  too  smooth,  too  smug,  and  you  and  everybody  else 
were  for  ever  praising  him  to  me.  He  was  always  held 
up  to  me  as  a  model;  and  the  first  time  I  saw  Marian 
Devereux  she  was  with  him — it  was  at  Sherry's  the  night 
before  I  came  here.  I  suppose  she  reached  St.  Agatha's 
only  a  few  hours  ahead  of  me." 

"Yes.  Sister  Theresa  was  her  guardian.  Her  father 
was  a  dear  friend,  and  I  knew  her  from  her  early  child 
hood.  You  are  mistaken,  Jack.  Her  knowing  Picker 
ing  means  nothing, — they  both  lived  in  New  York  and 
moved  in  the  same  circle." 

"But  it  doesn't  explain  her  efforts  to  help  him,  does 
it?"  I  blazed.  "He  wished  to  marry  her, — Sister 
Theresa  told  me  that, — and  I  failed,  I  failed  miserably 
to  keep  my  obligation  here — I  ran  away  to  follow  her !" 

"Ah,  to  be  sure!  You  were  away  Christmas  Eve, 
when  those  vandals  broke  in.  Bates  merely  mentioned 
it  in  the  last  report  I  got  as  I  came  through  New  York. 


360    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

That  was  all  right.  I  assumed,  of  course,  that  you  had 
gone  off  somewhere  to  get  a  little  Christmas  cheer;  I 
don't  care  anything  about  it." 

"But  I  had  followed  her — I  went  to  Cincinnati  to  see 
her.  She  dared  me  to  come — it  was  a  trick,  a  part  of 
the  conspiracy  to  steal  your  property." 

The  old  gentleman  smiled.  It  was  a  familiar  way  of 
his,  to  grow  calm  as  other  people  waxed  angry. 

"She  dared  you  to  come,  did  she !  That  is  quite  like 
Marian ;  but  you  didn't  have  to  go,  did  you,  Jack  ?" 

"Of  course  not ;  of  course  I  didn't  have  to  go,  but — " 

I  stammered,  faltered  and  ceased.  Memory  threw 
open  her  portals  with  a  challenge.  I  saw  her  on  the 
stairway  at  the  Armstrongs';  I  heard  her  low,  soft 
laughter,  I  felt  the  mockery  of  her  voice  and  eyes !  I 
knew  again  the  exquisite  delight  of  being  near  her.  My 
heart  told  me  well  enough  why  I  had  followed  her. 

"Jack,  I'm  glad  I'm  not  buried  up  there  in  that  Ver 
mont  graveyard  with  nobody  to  exercise  the  right  of 
guardianship  over  you.  I've  had  my  misgivings  about 
you ;  I  used  to  think  you  were  a  born  tramp ;  and  you  dis 
appointed  me  in  turning  your  back  on  architecture, — the 
noblest  of  all  professions ;  but  this  performance  of  yours 
really  beats  them  all.  Don't  you  know  that  a  girl  like 
Marian  Devereux  isn't  likely  to  become  the  agent  of  any 
rascal?  Do  you  really  believe  for  a  minute  that  she 


CHANGES   AND    CHANCES  361 

tempted  you  to  follow  her,  so  you  might  forfeit  your 
rights  to  my  property?" 

"But  why  was  she  trying  to  find  those  notes  of  his? 
Why  did  she  come  back  from  Cincinnati  with  his  party  ? 
If  you  could  answer  me  those  things,  maybe  I'd  admit 
that  I'm  a  fool.  Pickering,  I  imagine,  is  a  pretty  plausi 
ble  fellow  where  women  are  concerned." 

"For  God's  sake,  Jack,  don't  speak  of  that  girl  as 
women !  I  put  her  in  that  will  of  mine  to  pique  your 
curiosity,  knowing  that  if  there  was  a  penalty  on  your 
marrying  her  you  would  be  wholly  likely  to  do  it, — for 
that's  the  way  human  beings  are  made.  But  you've 
mixed  it  all  up  now,  and  insulted  her  in  the  grossest 
way  possible  for  a  fellow  who  is  really  a  gentleman.  And 
I  don't  want  to  lose  you;  I  want  you  here  with  me, 
Jack!  This  is  a  beautiful  country,  this  Indiana! 
And  what  I  want  to  do  is  to  found  an  estate,  to 
build  a  house  that  shall  be  really  beautiful, — some 
thing  these  people  hereabouts  can  be  proud  of, — 
and  I  want  you  to  have  it  with  me,  Jack,  to 
link  our  name  to  these  woods  and  that  pretty  lake.  I'd 
rather  have  that  for  my  neighbor  than  any  lake  in  Scot 
land.  These  rich  Americans,  who  go  to  England  to  live, 
don't  appreciate  the  beauty  of  their  own  country.  This 
landscape  is  worthy  of  the  best  that  man  can  do.  And 
I  didn't  undertake  to  build  a  crazy  house  so  much  as 


362  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

one  that  should  have  some  dignity  and  character.  That 
passage  around  the  chimney  is  an  indulgence,  Jack, — 
I'll  admit  it's  a  little  bizarre, — you  see  that  chimney 
isn't  so  big  outside  as  it  is  in!" — and  he  laughed  and 
rubbed  his  knees  with  the  palms  of  his  hands, — "and  my 
bringing  foreign  laborers  here  wasn't  really  to  make  it 
easier  to  get  things  done  my  way.  Wait  till  you  have 
seen  the  May-apples  blossom  and  heard  the  robins  sing 
in  the  summer  twilight, — help  me  to  finish  the  house, — 
then  if  you  want  to  leave  I'll  bid  you  God-speed." 

The  feeling  in  his  tone,  the  display  of  sentiment  so 
at  variance  with  my  old  notion  of  him,  touched  me  in 
spite  of  myself.  There  was  a  characteristic  nobility  and 
dignity  in  his  plan;  it  was  worthy  of  him.  And  I  had 
never  loved  him  as  now,  when  he  finished  this  appeal, 
and  turned  away  to  the  window,  gazing  out  upon  the 
somber  woodland. 

"Mr.  Donovan  is  ready  to  go,  sir,"  announced  Bates 
at  the  door,  and  we  went  into  the  library,  where  Larry 
and  Stoddard  were  waiting. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

SHORTER  VISTAS 

Larry  had  assembled  his  effects  in  the  library,  and  to 
my  surprise,  Stoddard  appeared  with  his  own  hand-bag. 

"I'm  going  to  see  Donovan  well  on  his  way,"  said  the 
clergyman. 

"It's  a  pity  our  party  must  break  up,"  exclaimed  my 
grandfather.  "My  obligations  to  Mr.  Donovan  are  very 
great — and  to  you,  too,  Stoddard.  Jack's  friends  are 
mine  hereafter,  and  when  we  get  new  doors  for  Glen- 
arm  House  you  shall  honor  me  by  accepting  duplicate 
keys." 

"Where's  Bates  ?"  asked  Larry,  and  the  man  came  in, 
respectfully,  inperturbably  as  always,  and  began  gather 
ing  up  the  bags. 

"Stop — one  moment!  Mr.  Glenarm,"  said  Larry. 
"Before  I  go  I  want  to  congratulate  you  on  the  splendid 
courage  of  this  man  who  has  served  you  and  your  house 
with  so  much  faithfulness  and  tact.  And  I  want  to  tell 
you  something  else,  that  you  probably  would  never  learn 
from  him — " 

363 


364    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"Donovan!"  There  was  a  sharp  cry  in  Bates'  voice, 
and  he  sprang  forward  with  his  hands  outstretched  en- 
treatingly.  But  Larry  did  not  heed  him. 

"The  moment  I  set  eyes  on  this  man  I  recognized 
him.  It's  not  fair  to  you  or  to  him  that  you  should  not 
know  him  for  what  he  is.  Let  me  introduce  an  old 
friend,  Walter  Creighton;  he  was  a  student  at  Dublin 
when  I  was  there, — I  remember  him  as  one  of  the  best 
fellows  in  the  world.'' 

"For  God's  sake — no !"  pleaded  Bates.  He  was  deeply 
moved  and  turned  his  face  away  from  us. 

"But,  like  me,"  Larry  went  on,  "he  mixed  in  politics. 
One  night  in  a  riot  at  Dublin  a  constable  was  killed. 
No  one  knew  who  was  guilty,  but  a  youngster  was  sus 
pected, — the  son  of  one  of  the  richest  and  best-known 
men  in  Ireland,  who  happened  to  get  mixed  in  the  row. 
To  draw  attention  from  the  boy,  Creighton  let  suspicion 
attach  to  his  own  name,  and,  to  help  the  boy's  case 
further,  ran  away.  I  had  not  heard  from  or  of  him  until 
the  night  I  came  here  and  found  him  the  defender  of 
this  house.  By  God !  that  was  no  servant's  trick, — it  was 
the  act  of  a  royal  gentleman." 

They  clasped  hands ;  and  with  a  new  light  in  his  face, 
with  a  new  manner,  as  though  he  resumed,  as  a  familiar 
garment,  an  old  disused  personality,  Bates  stood  trans 
figured  in  the  twilight,  a  man  and  a  gentleman.  I  think 


SHOKTElt   VISTAS  365 

we  were  all  drawn  to  him;  I  know  that  a  sob  clutched 
my  throat  and  tears  filled  my  eyes  as  I  grasped  his  hand. 

"But  what  in  the  devil  did  you  do  it  for?"  blurted 
my  grandfather,  excitedly  twirling  his  glasses. 

Bates  (I  still  call  him  Bates, — he  insists  on  it) 
laughed.  For  the  first  time  he  thrust  his  hands  into  his 
pockets  and  stood  at  his  ease,  one  of  us. 

"Larry,  you  remember  I  showed  a  fondness  for  the 
stage  in  our  university  days.  When  I  got  to  America  I 
had  little  money  and  found  it  necessary  to  find  employ 
ment  without  delay.  I  saw  Mr.  Glenarm's  advertise 
ment  for  a  valet.  Just  as  a  lark  I  answered  it  to  see 
what  an  American  gentleman  seeking  a  valet  looked 
like.  I  fell  in  love  with  Mr.  Glenarm  at  sight — " 

"It  was  mutual !"  declared  my  grandfather.  "I  never 
believed  your  story  at  all, — you  were  too  perfect  in  the 
part !" 

"Well,  I  didn't  greatly  mind  the  valet  business;  it 
helped  to  hide  my  identity;  and  I  did  like  the  humor 
and  whims  of  Mr.  Glenarm.  The  housekeeping,  after 
we  came  out  here,  wasn't  so  pleasant" — he  looked  at  his 
hands  ruefully — "but  this  joke  of  Mr.  Glenarm's  mak 
ing  a  will  and  then  going  to  Egypt  to  see  what  would 
happen, — that  was  too  good  to  miss.  And  when  the 
heir  arrived  I  found  new  opportunities  of  practising 
amateur  theatricals;  and  Pickering's  efforts  to  enlist 


366  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

me  in  his  scheme  for  finding  the  money  and  making  me 
rich  gave  me  still  greater  opportunities.  There  were 
times  when  I  was  strongly  tempted  to  blurt  the  whole 
thing;  I  got  tired  of  being  suspected,  and  of  playing 
ghost  in  the  wall ;  and  if  Mr.  Glenarm  hadn't  got  here 
just  as  he  did  I  should  have  stopped  the  fight  and 
proclaimed  the  truth.  I  hope,"  he  said,  turning  to 
me,  "you  have  no  hard  feelings,  sir."  And  he  threw 
into  the  "sir"  just  a  touch  of  irony  that  made  us  all 
roar. 

"I'm  certainly  glad  I'm  not  dead,"  declared  my  grand 
father,  staring  at  Bates.  "Life  is  more  fun  than  I  ever 
thought  possible.  Bless  my  soul !"  he  said,  "if  it  isn't  a 
shame  that  Bates  can  never  cook  another  omelette  for 
me!" 

We  sent  Bates  back  with  my  grandfather  from  the 
boat-house,  and  Stoddard,  Larry  and  I  started  across  the 
ice;  the  light  coating  of  snow  made  walking  compara 
tively  easy.  We  strode  on  silently,  Stoddard  leading. 
Their  plan  was  to  take  an  accommodation  train  at  the 
first  station  beyond  Annandale,  leave  it  at  a  town  forty 
miles  away,  and  then  hurry  east  to  an  obscure  place  in 
the  mountains  of  Virginia,  where  a  religious  order 
maintained  a  house.  There  Stoddard  promised  Larry 
asylum  and  no  questions  asked. 

We  left  the  lake  and  struck  inland  over  a  rough  coun- 


SHOETEK   VISTAS  367 

try  road  to  the  station,  where  Stoddard  purchased  tickets 
only  a  few  minutes  before  the  train  whistled. 

We  stood  on  the  lonely  platform,  hands  joined  to 
hands,  and  I  know  not  what  thoughts  in  our  minds  and 
hearts. 

"We've  met  and  we've  said  good-by  in  many  odd  cor 
ners  of  this  strange  old  world,"  said  Larry,  "and  God 
knows  when  we  shall  meet  again." 

"But  you  must  stay  in  America — there  must  be  no 
sea  between  us !"  I  declared. 

"Donovan's  sins  don't  seem  heinous  to  me !  It's  sim 
ply  that  they've  got  to  find  a  scapegoat," — and  Stod- 
dard's  voice  was  all  sympathy  and  kindness.  "It  will 
blow  over  in  time,  and  Donovan  will  become  an  enlight 
ened  and  peaceable  American  citizen." 

There  was  a  constraint  upon  us  all  at  this  moment  of 
parting — so  many  things  had  happened  that  day — and 
when  men  have  shared  danger  together  they  are  bound 
by  ties  that  death  only  can  break.  Larry's  effort  at 
cheer  struck  a  little  hollowly  upon  us. 

"Beware,  lad,  of  women !"  he  importuned  me. 

"Humph!  You  still  despise  the  sex  on  account  of 
that  affair  with  the  colleen  of  the  short  upper  lip." 

"Verily.  And  the  eyes  of  that  little  lady,  who  guid 
ed  your  grandfather  back  from  the  other  world^  remind 
ed  me  strongly  of  her !  Bah,  these  women !" 


368  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"Precious  little  you  know  about  them !"  I  retorted. 

"The  devil  I  don't !" 

"No,"  said  Stoddard,  "invoke  the  angels,  not  the 
devil  I" 

"Hear  him !  Hear  him !  A  priest  with  no  knowledge 
of  the  world." 

"Alas,  my  cloth !  And  you  fling  it  at  me  after  I  have 
gone  through  battle,  murder  and  sudden  death  with  you 
gentlemen !" 

"We  thank  you,  sir,  for  that  last  word,"  said  Larry 
mockingly.  "I  am  reminded  of  the  late  Lord  Alfred : 

"  :I  waited  for  the  train  at  Coventry; 

I  hung  with  grooms  and  porters  on  the  bridge, 
To  watch  the  three  tall  spires, — ' " 

he  quoted,  looking  off  through  the  twilight  toward  St. 
Agatha's.  "I  can't  see  a  blooming  spire !" 

The  train  was  now  roaring  down  upon  us  and  we 
clung  to  this  light  mood  for  our  last  words.  Between 
men,  gratitude  is  a  thing  best  understood  in  silence; 
and  these  good  friends,  I  knew,  felt  what  I  could  not 
say. 

"Before  the  year  is  out  we  shall  all  meet  again,"  cried 
Stoddard  hopefully,  seizing  the  bags. 

"Ah,  if  we  could  only  be  sure  of  that !"  I  replied.  And 
in  a  moment  they  were  both  waving  their  hands  to  me 


SHORTER   VISTAS  369 

from  the  rear  platform,  and  I  strode  back  homeward 
over  the  lake. 

A  mood  of  depression  was  upon  me ;  I  had  lost  much 
that  day,  and  what  I  had  gained — my  restoration  to  the 
regard  of  the  kindly  old  man  of  my  own  blood,  who  had 
appealed  for  my  companionship  in  terms  hard  to  den}r — 
seemed  trifling  as  I  tramped  over  the  ice.  Perhaps 
Pickering,  after  all,  was  the  real  gainer  by  the  day's 
event.  My  grandfather  had  said  nothing  to  allay  my 
doubts  as  to  Marian  Devereux's  strange  conduct,  and 
yet  his  confidence  in  her  was  apparently  unshaken. 

I  tramped  on,  and  leaving  the  lake,  half-unconscious- 
iy  struck  into  the  wood  beyond  the  dividing  wall,  where 
snow-covered  leaves  and  twigs  rattled  and  broke  under 
my  tread.  I  came  out  into  an  open  space  beyond  St. 
Agatha's,  found  the  walk  and  turned  toward  home. 

As  I  neared  the  main  entrance  to  the  school  the  door 
opened  and  a  woman  came  out  under  the  overhanging 
lamp.  She  carried  a  lantern,  and  turned  with  a  hand 
outstretched  to  some  one  who  followed  her  with  careful 
steps. 

"Ah,  Marian,"  cried  my  grandfather,  "it's  ever  the 
task  of  youth  to  light  the  way  of  age." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

AND  SO  THE  LIGHT  LED  ME 

He  had  been  to  see  Sister  Theresa,  and  Marian  was 
walking  with  him  to  the  gate.  I  saw  her  quite  plainly 
in  the  light  that  fell  from  the  lamp  overhead.  A  long 
cloak  covered  her,  and  a  fur  toque  capped  her  graceful 
head.  My  grandfather  and  his  guide  were  apparently 
in  high  spirits.  Their  laughter  smote  harshly  upon  me. 
It  seemed  to  shut  me  out, — to  lift  a  barrier  against  me. 
The  world  lay  there  within  the  radius  of  that  swaying 
light,  and  I  hung  aloof,  hearing  her  voice  and  jealous  of 
the  very  companionship  and  sympathy  between  them. 

But  the  light  led  me.  I  remembered  with  bitterness 
that  I  had  always  followed  her, — whether  as  Olivia, 
trailing  in  her  girlish  race  across  the  snow,  or  as  the 
girl  in  gray,  whom  I  had  followed,  wondering,  on  that 
night  journey  at  Christmas  Eve;  and  I  followed  now. 
The  distrust,  my  shattered  faith,  my  utter  loneliness, 
could  not  weigh  against  the  joy  of  hearing  that  laugh 
of  hers  breaking  mellowly  on  the  night. 

I  paused  to  allow  the  two  figures  to  widen  the  dis 
tance  between  us  as  they  traversed  the  path  that  curved 

570 


away  toward  the  chapel.  I  could  still  hear  their  voices, 
and  see  the  lantern  flash  and  disappear.  I  felt  an  im 
pulse  to  turn  back,  or  plunge  into  the  woodland ;  but  I 
was  carried  on  uncontrollably.  The  light  glimmered, 
and  her  voice  still  floated  back  to  me.  It  stole  through 
the  keen  winter  dark  like  a  memory  of  spring;  and  so 
her  voice  and  the  light  led  me. 

Then  I  heard  an  exclamation  of  dismay  followed  by 
laughter  in  which  my  grandfather  joined  merrily. 

"Oh,  never  mind ;  we're  not  afraid,"  she  exclaimed. 

I  had  rounded  the  curve  in  the  path  where  I  should 
have  seen  the  light;  but  the  darkness  was  unbroken. 
There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  in  which  I  drew  quite 
near  to  them. 

Then  my  grandfather's  voice  broke  out  cheerily. 

"Now  I  must  go  back  with  you!  A  fine  person  you 
are  to  guide  an  old  man !  A  foolish  virgin,  indeed,  with 
no  oil  in  her  lamp !" 

"Please  do  not !  Of  course  I'm  going  to  see  you  quite 
to  your  own  door!  I  don't  intend  to  put  my  hand  to 
the  lantern  and  then  turn  back !" 

"This  walk  isn't  what  it  should  be,"  said  my  grand 
father,  "we'll  have  to  provide  something  better  in  the 
spring." 

They  were  still  silent  and  I  heard  him  futilely  strik 
ing  a  match.  Then  the  lantern  fell,  its  wires  rattling 


3?2  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

as  it  struck  the  ground,  and  the  two  exclaimed  with  re 
newed  merriment  upon  their  misfortune. 

"If  you  will  allow  me !"  I  called  out,  my  hand  fum 
bling  in  my  pocket  for  my  own  match-box. 

I  have  sometimes  thought  that  there  is  really  some 
sort  of  decent  courtesy  in  me.  An  old  man  caught  in 
a  rough  path  that  was  none  too  good  at  best!  And  a 
girl,  even  though  my  enemy !  These  were,  I  fancy,  the 
thoughts  that  crossed  my  mind. 

"Ah,  it's  Jack !"  exclaimed  my  grandfather.  "Marian 
was  showing  me  the  way  to  the  gate  and  our  light  went 
out." 

"Miss  Devereux,"  I  murmured.  I  have,  I  hope,  an 
icy  tone  for  persons  who  have  incurred  my  displeasure, 
and  I  employed  it  then  and  there,  with,  no  doubt,  its 
fullest  value. 

She  and  my  grandfather  were  groping  in  the  dark  for 
the  lost  lantern,  and  I,  putting  out  my  hand,  touched 
her  fingers. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  murmured  frostily. 

Then  I  found  and  grasped  the  lantern. 

"One  moment,"  I  said,  "and  I'll  see  what's  the  trou 
ble." 

I  thought  my  grandfather  took  it,  but  the  flame  of 
my  wax  match  showed  her  fingers,  clasping  the  wires  of 
the  lantern.  The  cloak  slipped  away,  showing  her  arm's 


AND   SO   THE   LIGHT   LED   ME        373 

soft  curve,  the  blue  and  white  of  her  bodice,  the  purple 
blur  of  violets ;  and  for  a  second  I  saw  her  face,  with  a 
smile  quivering  about  her  lips.  My  grandfather  was 
beating  impatiently  with  his  stick,  urging  us  to  leave  the 
lantern  and  go  on. 

"Let  it  alone,"  he  said.  "I'll  go  down  through  the 
chapel ;  there's  a  lantern  in  there  somewhere." 

"I'm  awfully  sorry,"  she  remarked;  "but  I  recently 
lost  my  best  lantern !" 

To  be  sure  she  had !  I  was  angry  that  she  should  so 
brazenly  recall  the  night  I  found  her  looking  for  Pick 
ering's  notes  in  the  passage  at  the  Door  of  Bewilder 
ment! 

She  had  lifted  the  lantern  now,  and  I  was  striving  to 
touch  the  wax  taper  to  the  wick,  with  imminent  danger 
to  my  bare  fingers. 

"They  don't  really  light  well  when  the  oil's  out,"  she 
observed,  with  an  exasperating  air  of  wisdom. 

I  took  it  from  her  hand  and  shook  it  close  to  my  ear. 

"Yes ;  of  course,  it's  empty,"  I  muttered  disdainfully. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Glenarm !"  she  cried,  turning  away  toward 
my  grandfather. 

I  heard  his  stick  beating  the  rough  path  several  yards 
away.  He  was  hastening  toward  Glenarm  House. 

"I  think  Mr.  Glenarm  has  gone  home." 

"Oh,  that  is  too  bad !"  she  exclaimed. 


374    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"Thank  you!  He's  probably  at  the  chapel  by  this 
time.  If  you  will  permit  me — " 

"Not  at  all !" 

A  man  well  advanced  in  the  sixties  should  not  tax  his 
arteries  too  severely.  I  was  quite  sure  that  my  grand 
father  ran  up  the  chapel  steps;  I  could  hear  his  stick 
beating  hurriedly  on  the  stone. 

"If  you  wish  to  go  farther" — I  began. 

I  was  indignant  at  my  grandfather's  conduct ;  he  had 
deliberately  run  off,  leaving  me  alone  with  a  young 
woman  whom  I  particularly  wished  to  avoid. 

"Thank  you ;  I  shall  go  back  now.  I  was  merely  walk 
ing  to  the  gate  with  Mr.  Glenarm.  It  is  so  fine  to  have 
him  back  again,  so  unbelievable !" 

It  was  just  such  a  polite  murmur  as  one  might  em 
ploy  in  speaking  to  an  old  foe  at  a  friend's  table. 

She  listened  a  moment  for  his  step;  then,  apparently 
satisfied,  turned  back  toward  St.  Agatha's.  I  followed, 
uncertain,  hesitating,  marking  her  definite  onward 
flight.  From  the  folds  of  the  cloak  stole  the  faint  per 
fume  of  violets.  The  sight  of  her,  the  sound  of  her 
voice,  combined  to  create — and  to  destroy! — a  mood 
with  every  step. 

I  was  seeking  some  colorless  thing  to  say  when  she 
spoke  over  her  shoulder: 


AND    SO   THE   LIGHT   LED   ME        375 

"You  are  very  kind,  but  I  am  not  in  the  least  afraid, 
Mr.  Glenarm." 

"But  there  is  something  I  wish  to  say  to  you.  I 
should  like—" 

She  slackened  her  step. 

"Yes." 

"I  am  going  away/* 

"Yes ;  of  course ;  you  are  going  away." 

Her  tone  implied  that  this  was  something  that  had 
been  ordained  from  the  beginning  of  time,  and  did  not 
matter. 

"And  I  wish  to  say  a  word  about  Mr.  Pickering." 

She  paused  and  faced  me  abruptly.  We  were  at  the 
edge  of  the  wood,  and  the  school  lay  quite  near.  She 
caught  the  cloak  closer  about  her  and  gave  her  head  a 
little  toss  I  remembered  well,  as  a  trick  compelled  by  the 
vagaries  of  woman's  head-dress. 

"I  can't  talk  to  you  here,  Mr.  Glenarm ;  I  had  no  in 
tention  of  ever  seeing  you  again ;  but  I  must  say  this — " 

"Those  notes  of  Pickering's — I  shall  ask  Mr.  Glen 
arm  to  give  them  to  you — as  a  mark  of  esteem  from  me." 

She  stepped  backward  as  though  I  had  struck  her. 

"You  risked  much  for  them — for  him" — I  went  on. 

"Mr.  Glenarm,  I  have  no  intention  of  discussing  that, 
or  any  other  matter  with  you — " 


376    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"It  is  better  so—" 

"But  your  accusations,  the  things  you  imply,  are  un 
just,  infamous!" 

The  quaver  in  her  voice  shook  my  resolution  to  deal 
harshly  with  her. 

"If  I  had  not  myself  been  a  witness — "  I  began. 

"Yes;  you  have  the  conceit  of  your  own  wisdom,  I 
dare  say." 

"But  that  challenge  to  follow  you,  to  break  my  pledge ; 
my  running  away,  only  to  find  that  Pickering  was  close 
at  my  heels ;  your  visit  to  the  tunnel  in  search  of  those 
notes, — don't  you  know  that  those  things  were  a  blow 
that  hurt  ?  You  had  been  the  spirit  of  this  woodland  to 
me.  Through  all  these  months,  from  the  hour  I  watched 
you  paddle  off  into  the  sunset  in  your  canoe,  the  thought 
of  you  made  the  days  brighter,  steadied  and  cheered  me, 
and  wakened  ambitions  that  I  had  forgotten — abandoned 
— long  ago.  And  this  hideous  struggle  here, — it  seems 
so  idle,  so  worse  than  useless  now !  But  I'm  glad  I  fol 
lowed  you, — I'm  glad  that  neither  fortune  nor  duty  kept 
me  back.  And  now  I  want  you  to  know  that  Arthur 
Pickering  shall  not  suffer  for  anything  that  has  hap 
pened.  I  shall  make  no  effort  to  punish  him ;  for  your 
sake  he  shall  go  free." 

A  sigh  so  deep  that  it  was  like  a  sob  broke  from  her. 
She  thrust  forth  her  hand  entreatingly. 


"Why  don't  you  go  to  him  with  your  generosity? 
You  are  so  ready  to  helieve  ill  of  me !  And  I  shall  not 
defend  myself;  but  I  will  say  these  things  to  you,  Mr. 
Glenarm:  I  had  no  idea,  no  thought  of  seeing  him  at 
the  Armstrongs'  that  night.  It  was  a  surprise  to  me, 
and  to  them,  when  he  telegraphed  he  was  coming.  And 
when  I  went  into  the  tunnel  there  under  the  wall  that 
night,  I  had  a  purpose — a  purpose — " 

"Yes?"  she  paused  and  I  bent  forward,  earnestly 
waiting  for  her  words,  knowing  that  here  lay  her  great 
offending. 

"I  was  afraid, — I  was  afraid  that  Mr.  Glenarm  might 
not  come  in  time ;  that  you  might  be  dispossessed, — lose 
the  fight,  and  I  came  back  with  Mr.  Pickering  because 
I  thought  some  dreadful  thing  might  happen  here — to 
you — " 

She  turned  and  ran  from  me  with  the  speed  of  the 
wind,  the  cloak  fluttering  out  darkly  about  her.  At  the 
door,  under  the  light  of  the  lamp,  I  was  close  upon  her. 
Her  hand  was  on  the  vestibule  latch. 

"But  how  should  I  have  known?"  I  cried.  "And  you 
had  taunted  me  with  my  imprisonment  at  Glenarm; 
you  had  dared  me  to  follow  you,  when  you  knew  that 
my  grandfather  was  living  and  watching  to  see  whether 
I  kept  faith  with  him.  If  you  can  tell  me, — if  there 
is  an  answer  to  that — " 


378     THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

"I  shall  never  tell  you  anything — more !  You  were  so 
eager  to  think  ill  of  me — to  accuse  me !" 

"It  was  because  I  love  you ;  it  was  my  jealousy  of  that 
man,  my  boyhood  enemy,  that  made  me  catch  at  any 
doubt.  You  are  so  beautiful, — you  are  so  much  a  part 
of  the  peace,  the  charm  of  all  this!  I  had  hoped  for 
spring — for  you  and  the  spring  together  I" 

"Oh,  please— !" 

Her  flight  had  shaken  the  toque  to  an  unwonted  an 
gle;  her  breath  came  quick  and  hard  as  she  tugged  at 
the  latch  eagerly.  The  light  from  overhead  was  full 
upon  us,  but  I  could  not  go  with  hope  and  belief  strug 
gling  unsatisfied  in  my  heart.  I  seized  her  hands  and 
sought  to  look  into  her  eyes. 

"But  you  challenged  me, — to  follow  you !  I  want  to 
know  why  you  did  that  I" 

She  drew  away,  struggling  to  free  herself. 

"Why  was  it,  Marian  ?" 

"Because  I  wanted — " 

"Yes." 

"I  wanted  you  to  come,  Squire  Glenarm !" 

Thrice  spring  has  wakened  the  sap  in  the  Glenarm 
wood  since  that  night.  Yesterday  I  tore  March  from 
the  calendar.  April  in  Indiana!  She  is  an  impudent 
tomboy  who  whistles  at  the  window,  points  to  the  sun- 


AND   SO   THE   LIGHT   LED   ME        379 

shine  and,  when  you  go  hopefully  forth,  summons  the 
clouds  and  pelts  you  with  snow.  The  austere  old  wood 
land,  wise  from  long  acquaintance,  finds  no  joy  in  her. 
The  walnut  and  the  hickory  have  a  higher  respect  for 
the  stormier  qualities  of  December.  April  in  Indiana! 
She  was  just  there  by  the  wall,  where  now  the  bluebird 
pauses  dismayed,  and  waits  again  the  flash  of  her  golden 
sandals.  She  bent  there  at  the  lakeside  the  splash  of 
a  raindrop  ago  and  tentatively  poked  the  thin,  brittle 
ice  with  the  pink  tips  of  her  little  fingers.  April  in  the 
heart !  It  brings  back  the  sweet  wonder  and  awe  of  those 
days,  three  years  ago,  when  Marian  and  I,  waiting  for 
June  to  come,  knew  a  joy  that  thrilled  our  hearts  like 
the  tumult  of  the  first  robin's  song.  The  marvel  of  it 
all  steals  over  me  again  as  I  hear  the  riot  of  melody  in 
meadow  and  wood,  and  catch  through  the  window  the 
flash  of  eager  wings. 

My  history  of  the  affair  at  Glenarm  has  overrun  the 
bounds  I  had  set  for  it,  and  these,  I  submit,  are  not 
days  for  the  desk  and  pen.  Marian  is  turning  over  the 
sheets  of  manuscript  that  lie  at  my  left  elbow,  and  de 
manding  that  I  drop  work  for  a  walk  abroad.  My 
grandfather  is  pacing  the  terrace  outside,  planning,  no 
doubt,  those  changes  in  the  grounds  that  are  his  con 
stant  delight. 

Of  some  of  the  persons  concerned  in  this  winter's 


380    THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

tale  let  me  say  a  word  more.  The  prisoner  whom  Larry 
left  behind  we  discharged,  after  several  days,  with  all 
the  honors  of  war,  and  (I  may  add  without  breach  of 
confidence)  a  comfortable  indemnity.  Larry  has  made 
a  reputation  by  his  book  on  Eussia — a  searching  study 
into  the  conditions  of  the  Czar's  empire,  and,  having 
squeezed  that  lemon,  he  is  now  in  Tibet.  His  father 
has  secured  from  the  British  government  a  promise  of 
immunity  for  Larry,  so  long  as  that  amiable  adventurer 
keeps  away  from  Ireland.  My  friend's  latest  letters  to 
me  contain,  I  note,  no  reference  to  The  Sod. 

Bates  is  in  California  conducting  a  fruit  ranch,  and 
when  he  visited  us  last  Christmas  he  bore  all  the  marks 
of  a  gentleman  whom  the  world  uses  well.  Stoddard's 
life  has  known  many  changes  in  these  years,  but  they 
must  wait  for  another  day,  and,  perhaps,  another  his 
torian.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  it  was  he  who  married  us 
— Marian  and  me — in  the  little  chapel  by  the  wall,  and 
that  when  he  comes  now  and  then  to  visit  us,  we  renew 
our  impression  of  him  as  a  man  large  of  body  and  of 
soul.  Sister  Theresa  continues  at  the  head  of  St.  Aga 
tha's,  and  she  and  the  other  Sisters  of  her  brown-clad 
company  are  delightful  neighbors.  Pickering's  failure 
and  subsequent  disappearance  were  described  sufficiently 
in  the  newspapers  and  his  name  is  never  mentioned  at 
Glenarm, 


AND    SO   THE   LIGHT   LED   ME        381 

'As  for  myself — Marian  is  tapping  the  floor  restlessly 
with  her  boot  and  I  must  hasten — I  may  say  that  I  am 
no  idler.  It  was  I  who  carried  on  the  work  of  finishing 
Glenarm  House,  and  I  manage  the  farms  which  my 
grandfather  has  lately  acquired  in  this  neighborhood. 
But  better  still,  from  my  own  point  of  view,  I  maintain 
in  Chicago  an  office  as  consulting  engineer  and  I  have 
already  had  several  important  commissions. 

Glenarm  House  is  now  what  my  grandfather  had 
wished  to  make  it,  a  beautiful  and  dignified  mansion. 
He  insisted  on  filling  up  the  tunnel,  so  that  the  Door  of 
Bewilderment  is  no  more.  The  passage  in  the  wall  and 
the  strong  box  in  the  paneling  of  the  chimney-breast 
remain,  though  the  latter  we  use  now  as  a  hiding-place 
for  certain  prized  bottles  of  rare  whisky  which  John 
Marshall  Glenarm  ordains  shall  be  taken  down  only  on 
Christmas  Eves,  to  drink  the  health  of  Olivia  Gladys 
Armstrong.  That  young  woman,  I  may  add,  is  now  a 
belle  in  her  own  city,  and  of  the  scores  of  youngsters  all 
the  way  from  Pittsburg  to  New  Orleans  who  lay  siege 
to  her  heart,  my  word  is,  may  the  best  man  win ! 

And  now,  at  the  end,  it  may  seem  idle  vanity  for  a 
man  still  young  to  write  at  so  great  length  of  his  own 
affairs;  but  it  must  have  been  clear  that  mine  is  the 
humblest  figure  in  this  narrative.  I  wished  to  set  forth 
an  honest  account  of  my  grandfather's  experiment  in 


382  THE  HOUSE  OF  A  THOUSAND  CANDLES 

looking  into  this  world  from  another,  and  he  has  him 
self  urged  me  to  write  down  these  various  incidents 
while  they  are  still  fresh  in  my  memory. 

Marian — the  most  patient  of  women — is  walking  to 
ward  the  door,  eager  for  the  sunshine,  the  free  airs  of 
spring,  the  blue  vistas  lakeward,  and  at  last  I  am  ready 
to  go. 


A  THOROUGHBRED  GIRL 


ZELDA  DAMERON 


By  MEREDITH  NICHOLSON 
Author  of  The  Main  Chance 


Zelda  Dameron  is  in  all  ways  a  splendid  and 
successful  story.  There  is  about  it  a  sweetness,  a 
wholesomeness  and  a  sturdiness  that  will  commend 
it  to  earnest,  kindly  and  wholesome  people. 

Boston  Transcript 

The  whole  story  is  thoroughly  American.  It  is 
lively  and  breezy  throughout — a  graphic  description 
of  a  phase  of  life  in  the  Middle  West. 

Toledo  Blade 

A  love  story  of  a  peculiarly  sweet  and  attractive 
sort, — the  interpretation  of  a  girl's  life,  the  revelation 
of  a  human  heart.  New  Orleans  Picayune 


With  portraits  of  the  characters  in  color 

By  John  Cecil  Clay 
I2mo,  cloth,  price,  $1.50 


The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


A  STORY  OF  TODAY 


72*  MAIN  CHANCE 

By  MEREDITH  NICHOLSON 


The  Main  Chance  is  a  straightforward,  honest 
picture  of  the  life  of  today  in  a  wide-awake  western 
city.  It  leaves  with  the  reader  a  pleasant  impression 
of  a  type  of  people  and  a  phase  of  life  well  worth  a 
closer  acquaintance. 

The  New  Tork  Commercial  Advertiser. 

Mr.  Nicholson's  work  is  marked  by  wholesome 

humor,  convincing  realism,  admirable  diction,  bright 

sayings,  a  good  sense  of  proportion  and  artistic  finish. 

The  Chicago  Inter  Ocean. 

The  Main  Chance  is  a  romance  of  youth,  of  love 
and  of  success  honestly  won.  It  is  a  vigorous,  buoy 
ant,  cheering  story,  full  of  crisp  humor,  forceful 
charm  and  hard  common  sense.  It  is  American  to 
the  very  core.  The  Reader. 

We  recommend  it  for  its  workmanship,  for  its 
smoothness  and  its  sensible  and  pleasant  fancies,  and 
for  its  general  charm.  The  New  Tork  Sun. 

With  six  illustrations  by  Harrison  Fisher 
I  zmo,  cloth.    Price,  $ 1 . 50 


The   Bobbs- Merrill   Company,    Indianapolis 


L006  335  622  4 


A  A 000252901    4 


